


You Know Where To Find Me

by gigglebug



Series: Dragon Quest Builders 2 [6]
Category: Dragon Quest Builders (Video Games)
Genre: (I'll have a note for that chapter specifically), (it's Khrumbul-Dun what do you expect), (it's an accident), (still an accident), Building up all the islands ROUND TWO, Cliffhangers, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Falling out, Furrowfield becomes a farming simulator again, Gaslighting, Hearing Voices, Khrumbul-dun has a mystery to solve!, Kidnapping, Mental Coercion, Minor Original Character(s), Moonbrooke is just doing Moonbrooke things, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sleepwalking, Temporary Breakup, acid trip, mirror of ra, one VERY brief mention of drunk sex but very vague and glossed over very quickly, yeah this definitely ain't the feel-good adventure like the last story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 135,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigglebug/pseuds/gigglebug
Summary: A year after the events of Good For Me, the repopulation efforts of the Isle and the other islands cannot be ignored any longer. Crea and Malroth decide to revisit the path of their first journey, rebuilding for the new needs of the villagers. But when Crea starts hearing a voice, Malroth can't shake the feeling that something like this has happened before... and that maybe he's on the precipice of losing everything.-(aka, what happens when I flip the roles and do the game over again.)
Relationships: Female Builder/Malroth (Dragon Quest Builders 2)
Series: Dragon Quest Builders 2 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539892
Comments: 275
Kudos: 74





	1. The Mail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea and Malroth check the mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (General note: this is a sequel fic to my other completed fic, Good For Me. There are elements of this that will make more sense if you read that first! <3 Plus it's really good, I promise.)
> 
> (also, the feel and tone of this story is _much different_ than the last. this is more relationship-centric than the last, much less pure-adventure and more unapologetic angst because... I'm just like that, I guess.)

The sun was warm and bright over the Isle of Awakening, casting brilliant rays that made Malroth squint. Anywhere else but the desert and he knew it wouldn't be a problem, but the reflective glare off the sand made it twice as annoying. He grunted in irritation. 

"I told you I could've made you a hat. Or some sunglasses or something," Crea's voice said off to his left.

"We're gonna be here all of five minutes," Malroth grumbled. "And I could've made some myself if I wanted. I'm not so helpless at a workbench that I used to be."

Crea hummed. "I know. But I still could've. You know I like presents and all."

He almost laughed. _Always thoughtful._

They made their way through the sand, behind the main oasis, skirting through the narrow corridor. Crea had dug a tunnel here to the dock some months ago, making good on her promise to make a better way to Brownbeard's ship. Today, though, they weren't planning on an excursion out to sea. Instead, they were merely embarking on the mundane weekly trip to check the mail. 

The tunnel was cool and dark, opening up into the salty breeze of the ocean. The sun seemed less extreme here, somehow. Not as glaring as the desert despite the same amount of sand. Either way, Malroth was grateful.

The dock was uncharacteristically empty that day, Brownbeard having left the night before to set out for some supplies and fish up more rumors for other islands. They hadn't been to any other new populated islands since they returned from Aletia almost a year ago, though Brownbeard had found some uninhabited splotches of land that were good enough for a vacation every once in a while. Other than that, it'd been a year of regrowth.

Crea groaned as they approached the mailbox, seeing the little thing stuffed to the brim with mail. "I have _got_ to make a bigger mailbox."

"I mean, it probably wouldn't be so bad if you would just throw the old mail away," Malroth sniggered.

"But what if I need it?" Crea grinned, scooping unopened letters into her arms. "You never know. Plus the stationary is cute! I can't just throw that away!"

Malroth shook his head, exaggeratingly slapping his palm against his forehead as Crea laughed. 

Once she got all the unopened letters in a stack, she thumbed through them, glancing at the names of all the senders.

"Saffron, Saffron, Haydin, Jules, Saffron, ooh! Here's one from Damara!" She pulled the letter in question, handing it to Malroth for safekeeping. "Umm. Serge, Saffron, the King, Clayton… Goddess, this is all just this week?"

"You're a popular builder," Malroth said, fanning himself with Damara's envelope. "Especially since we saved the world and all. Y'know, Damara's is probably the only one without a demand or request in it."

"We should go back to Aletia," Crea grumbled. "I liked the self-sufficient part of that place."

"I'd be down."

She sighed. "Let me get through all these first. See if the world's gonna burn down or something if we go."

Sitting on a nearby crate, she leafed back through the letters, opening one and staring at it for a minute before cramming it back into the envelope and moving on to the next. Malroth tentatively stuffed Damara's letter in his pocket, wandering past Crea and down the beach a bit while waiting for her to finish. He found a stick down by the strange non-functioning teleportal and poked at nearby seaweed with it, jumping back in horror and surprise when he uncovered a starfish. Shivering, he backtracked up the beach away from it. He didn't know why he found them so creepy, but he just did. Better to steer clear than figure out why, he figured.

After some time messing with the debris on the beach, Malroth stood up, listening for Crea's murmurs as she read her letters. She was being more vocal today, he realized, and he looked back to her distant figure on the dock. He could tell she was more agitated than normal even though her back was to him, and he furrowed his brow as he jogged towards the dock.

At his approaching footsteps, Crea stood up forcefully, whirling around with a furious expression. "Goddess above, Malroth, _what do you want?"_ she yelled, stomping her foot.

Bewildered, Malroth blinked, tilting his head in several small movements as he processed this. "What?"

"Don't get smart with me!" she demanded. "You've been calling my name intermittently for the last twenty minutes. What. Do. You. _Want?"_

Malroth jerked his thumb over his shoulder, frowning. "Excuse me? I've been over here, minding my own business with the seaweed. I know how you get when you're reading."

"Who else would be calling my name?" she yelled again. "I don't see anyone else around it could be!"

Malroth opened his mouth to answer but Crea violently jerked her head to the side, her anger disappearing instantly as shock colored her face. Tentatively, she raised a hand to her ear, her eyes wide and staring unseeing into the distance. Closing his frozen mouth, Malroth silently crept closer to her, eyebrows knit together in harsh concern, observing her face carefully. When he stepped into her line of sight, she finally blinked, looking up at him.

"That wasn't you," she whispered.

Hair raised on the back of his neck, setting off every single red flag and alarm in his mind. "What happened," he said lowly, his question coming out flat like an accusation. 

Crea shook her head, hand still at her ear and staring slightly off into space. "I… I just heard my name again. But… it didn't come from you. It didn't match your mouth. So unless you learned how to throw your voice without me knowing…"

"How the heck can you _throw_ a voice?" Malroth challenged softly, briefly distracted by the strange concept.

She waved her hand at his comment, frowning and coming back to earth. "Not _literally._ I'll explain it later. In any case, the point is I—" She froze suddenly, hesitating. Her mouth stuttered, trying to form words as fear passed through her eyes.

"What?" Malroth asked, his own dread rising in his heart. "The point is what?"

Her eyes darted back and forth across his face for a long moment before she clenched her eyes shut, taking a deep breath and whispering, "The point is I heard a voice."

Malroth's heart dropped, feeling like it'd hit and tunneled down through the stone at his feet. He hurried forward, embracing her tightly in his arms without a word. It was then he noticed her slight trembling.

"I won't let it hurt you," he growled softly into her ear. "Whatever it wants from you, it's gonna have to move on and bother somebody else."

She nodded against his chest, taking comfort in his scent and firm presence. Malroth glanced around over her head, even though he knew he wouldn't see anything. His protective instincts were firing on all cylinders though, so he couldn't suppress them. Especially against something so invasive as a voice. He grit his teeth angrily. Unfortunately, he knew all about those. 

Crea flinched against him and he looked down, observing her tightly scrunched face. His frown deepened. He didn't want to say her name to startle her. "What happened?"

"He said my name again," she whispered, her voice rising in frantic tones. "And… a-and then…"

Malroth hugged her tighter, offering all the support he could. He knew all too well the fear that could consume at the unknown. He couldn't let her feel that too.

"Then h-he… he said he ne-ne-needed a builder. And th…" She trailed off, shaking her head and swallowing with difficulty. 

"And?" he urged gently. 

Crea took several steadying breaths, then spoke quietly in one fell swoop to make sure she got it all out. "And that I would do nicely."

Malroth growled again, animalistic possessiveness gripping him as tightly as he had his arms around her. "You listen here," he barked, shouting at the sky as if he knew where the voice was even originating from. "You better find yourself some other builder, cos this one is _mine._ She belongs here with us, and whatever reason or plan you have for bothering her like this can just take a hike. You hear me?" He snarled, anger rippling through his voice. "If you don't leave and I find out who you are, I'll kill you!"

The steady roll and crash of the waves answered him, Crea nestled tightly against his chest within his arms. His heart ached that this… _thing_ had scared her so badly, but he'd be damned if he didn't try to console her. He nuzzled the top of her head with his nose, bright red eyes still glaring and sweeping the landscape.

It took a couple of minutes, but Crea eventually stopped shaking. "Can we go home?" she murmured.

"Want me to carry you?" he asked, his hardness melting as he looked down at her face.

"We can warp," she suggested, still hiding her eyes.

Malroth stuck his tongue out habitually. He'd never loved warping– it made his insides feel like swiss cheese, as well as his brain all levels of disoriented. Still, it was preferable to whatever she was feeling at the moment. 

"Go for it," he assured, squeezing her gently.

A soft blue light later and they were gone.

* * *

_Hmm. The builder has a protector…_

A sharp smile in the darkness.

_No matter. He will fall in line. She will submit to me and become as she ought, replacing what has been lost._

The smile grew.

_It is her new destiny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here we are again!
> 
> This is intended to be my next multi-chapter fic. Hardly finished my last one and Crea and Malroth were already bouncing around my head like it was a bouncy house -_- Don't they know I'm a busy lady?
> 
> That said, I'm just posting this so soon after my last one so people can jump on the hype train. Cos I know what you're like. XD I probably won't start posting until the start of the year though, admittedly, given Thanksgiving is this week in the US and then I've got five various Christmas concerts I'll be involved in for December. Yeah. Busy.
> 
> Anyway, I've got plans for this fic >:3c Expect the general levels of evil. :D


	2. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea rests and Malroth reads the mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not the foretold start to daily updates. I'm sorry. reasons why at the end! if you don't care, feel free to skip it.

Crea collapsed once Malroth had his feet under him. She slid against his chest, hardly holding herself up even against his frame. Catching her, he helped her to sit properly in the grass, looking around to orient himself and take a breather to settle his own stomach. They'd landed right on field in front of their canyon home, the sun still high in the sky and making the water and house shimmer. Malroth took a steadying breath, sliding his arms under Crea's knees and behind her back to carry her. She had never been hard to carry, not with his strength. Even the several weeks after getting his curse removed hadn't put a damper on his abilities. But now… now when he picked her up, there was a noticeable weight. Not from her, per se, but… _on_ her, somehow. 

He didn't know how he knew that. 

In any case, Malroth recognized her fear and helplessness when she curled up against him once they were in bed. He wrapped his arm over her as best he could, trying to console her with his weight against her. Rustling came from between them and he looked down, spying the bundle of letters still tucked tightly within her grasp. He would've laughed in any other circumstance. Instead, he merely leaned back, prying her steadfast fingers from the envelopes and slipping them out. It was a fat stack, but he placed it on the nightstand. They could deal with that later. In the meantime, sleep.

Malroth nuzzled against the top of her head, encouraging her to curl further into his embrace. Crea breathed softly, already gone and sleeping. He sighed. 

She deserved to rest.

And if her voice was anything like his had been, they would both need it. 

Though he desperately hoped it wouldn't be anything like his.

* * *

The next few days passed in relative peace and silence. Crea didn't talk much at all, feeling a confused sense of identity, secure only in the warmth of his embrace. Malroth didn't mind the upswing in physical contact, not bothered in the slightest at her increased need. He could hold and reassure. She could take her time. What _did_ worry him was the lingering thought of this voice she had heard, but he didn't want to upset her while she was already so… fragile.

Which meant Crea slept a lot, leaving Malroth a lot of time to poke through her mail in the meantime. Sitting up with his back against the headboard, and his love curled up between his legs and across his chest, he carefully read the letters, stroking her hair as she slept. 

The King's letter was fancy, a gold motif lining the outside of the paper as well as a massively illustrated first letter of "thus." Malroth was unimpressed with the King's bravado and flashiness– after his _incidents_ in Moonbrooke, it had colored his perception of the place with a sour taste in his mouth. The colors weren't true considering he'd been half possessed while he was there, but he still thought the whole place felt forced and fake. Not his favorite. In any case, the King's letter was diplomatic in a formal invitation for Crea to come help with their population issues. Too many folks, apparently. Malroth opened Haydin's letter too, expecting more of the same requests. But as soon as he realized the whole thing had been composed as a sonnet, he stuck his tongue out in disgust and chucked it across the room. None of that.

He'd had a similar response with Jules' letter, but only because it was indecipherable. Spelling weirdness, inconsistent sizes of letters, and of the words he _could_ read, the phrases were strange and made no sense. It was an unintelligible mess. Malroth dumped it on the bedside table for Crea later. If she could somehow read it. Serge's letter was more to the point, talking about the influx of business to the bars. Some of the metal walls had apparently become tarnished with time, most notably the silver bar, but the gold bar couldn't even be physically touched during the day– the metal absorbed too much sunlight to be used at all, and remained hot until about an hour after sunset. Other than that, they had a lot of miners sleeping on floors, and _also are you in need of…_ Malroth yawned, uninterested in the monthly shipping logistics for her supplies. Another island in need of help, though at least some of their problems were legitimate. 

Clayton's letter was short. He was still trying to convert the orcs to the "children of Crea" as he insisted on calling them, but he hadn't made much luck on that front in a while. The orcs just wanted to farm, nothing more. Malroth wondered how long before the orcs got annoyed and ate him.

Saffron's many, _many_ letters were less passive aggressive than he remembered them being in the past, mentioning pretty straightforwardly the things they needed. She still wasn't too good at the _asking for help_ part though. Plus, most of the letters were "casual updates" on the problematic villager-to-bed ratio. He frowned. A year and some since they'd restored the Deitree, and they still couldn't make beds? Even he could do that, despite still being slow. Then again, everyone built slow compared to Crea. She was a master builder after all. 

Malroth let his hand with the letter fall to his lap, gazing down at her face laid against his chest. Her hair was mildly everywhere, having been convinced to let it down while she slept. He smoothed it back, listening to her soft breathing against his own rising chest. It was amazing, he decided, this life of theirs. And she was amazing too. She'd built so many things over the last year, building and restoring and _creating_ so many wonderful things, all of it with that big, silly grin he'd come to love. He smiled softly, smoothing at her cheek with his thumb. She was beautiful. And she deserved everything she ever wanted.

Her eyes fluttered open at his touch, staring blankly off for a moment before looking up at him.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She smiled sheepishly. "It's okay," she murmured. "I think I missed you."

"You did, huh?" He grinned, smoothing the hair around her ear. "Why's that?"

"I've been asleep how long?" she said, her voice low and scratchy from her silence. "Couple days? And whenever I'd wake up you'd just smile and say hi and I'd roll over back to sleep. Hardly quality interaction."

He chuckled. "You like companionship. I remember."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, remembering her own reassurance to him about it from their time in Aletia. "But I ought to be _talking_ for some of that."

"You're _resting,_ " Malroth emphasized. "We had a bit of a scare. Do you feel better?"

She shifted against him, checking. "I think so."

He squeezed her reassuringly with his arm behind her back. "Then I think we're fine here."

She hummed, looking at the pile of letters on the bed next to him. "I see you've been going through my stuff."

Malroth pouted. "What else was I supposed to do?"

She laughed. "I'm kidding. What'd they say?"

He rolled his eyes. "Literally every single letter complained about how they needed this or that and we have too many people now and oh no we're incapable of building a bed." He scoffed. "Seriously. It's not like we've taught them a _million times_ already."

"It's nice to feel needed though."

"Needed or used?"

She stared off into space. "Needed. I could've never gotten experience like this in Cantlin. It's nice to be appreciated in its own weird way."

Malroth huffed. "They could at least be more gracious about it."

"Well, sure," she laughed. "But I really don't mind."

"I do," he grumbled.

Crea trailed her hand across his chest. "I know."

Malroth caught her wandering hand with his own, interlacing their fingers together. She gave a sort of sad smile, looking at their joined hands. They were quiet for several minutes, breathing and enjoying each other's company.

"Hey Malroth," she said quietly. 

"Hmm?"

"I was thinking. About… Lulu's tea party."

He paused. "What about it?"

"Oh, you know," she said, her fingers fidgeting between his. "About the… promise. The one you asked me to make."

His heart skipped a beat, knowing where she was headed with that. "I promise to protect you," he said, wrapping his other arm tighter around her shoulder. "Nothing will ever hurt you when you're with me."

Crea breathed steadily for a moment, a question on her tongue. "But what if I… what if something bad happens? And I lose myself?"

"Then I'll make sure you don't get hurt," he said. "And find some way to get you back."

She finally looked up at his face. "I'm kinda nervous," she admitted. "I… uh…" She trailed off uncomfortably, hiding her eyes from his gaze.

"What?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently.

She squeezed back, thinking carefully about how she wanted to say it. "I don't… I don't want it to end up like… _your_ thing."

_There it is._

He sighed, long and loud. "You and me both," he said, leaning his cheek against her forehead. "It… scares me, too." He thought back sometimes, to the horrors of Malhalla. The terrible things he saw, and sort of _did,_ while he was there. How Hargon fed him all manner of lies to destroy him, even going so far as to pretend that Crea had died at Malroth's own hand. His throat remembered his screams of agony at the thought. 

He couldn't let it destroy her. If her voice was as malicious as Hargon, there had to be _something_ he could do to ease her pain. Or take it from her. 

"Just promise you'll tell me," he said, stroking his thumb across her hand. "Everything it says, every conflicting thing you feel. I got lost 'cause I tried to deal with it alone. If it tries to lie to you, I want to be there to remind you what's real."

Crea nodded earnestly. "I can promise that."

"And above everything," Malroth swallowed heavily, "you better trust me. If I could go back, I would have trusted you better. Not gotten so hung up on the things you had to do. Maybe…" He paused. It was so easy to get lost in _what ifs._ "Maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad if I had."

Her hand raised to his cup his cheek. "Hey," she said quietly. "It's fine. That happened a long time ago. We're here now after all, right?"

Malroth smiled gratefully.

"And don't worry," she said, mirroring his smile. "I will always trust you."

* * *

A shift in the darkness. A frown. 

_Their bond is close. And it seems something like this has happened before, at least to him._

Thoughtful humming.

_She will not come willingly because of it. Perhaps it is best to bide my time after all…_

A smile.

_Perhaps, then, she needs some encouragement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise le voice won't talk at the end of every chapter. XD
> 
> Alright, I'm posting this now cos I know I said I wanted to start posting in January cos I was pretty sure I'd have winter break to get a ton of progress on this story, blah blah. Which didn't happen because *murmurs in medical* so I've only written 6 chapters by today, mid-January. :( The other tl;dr is due to *medical murmurs* I may or may not have a procedure mid-February that results in surgery. We don't know yet! So heck if I know when I'm going to do the daily post thing.
> 
> That said, I have _two_ people sitting on my back (lovingly!) to make sure I don't drop the story. I have a lot of details planned, I just have to get my headspace back to actually... write it. So, fear not. I'm gonna write it! I promise! <3


	3. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You've gotta know I love you now_   
>  _In this light how could I not?_
> 
> In which Malroth reads Damara's letter.

"When do you want to leave for Furrowfield?"

Malroth raised his head from his pillow, eyeing Crea at the dresser. She'd slept soundly since they'd talked the day before, and she seemed more confident and determined. It made him feel relieved, to tell the truth. But he still worried.

"Since when are we going to Furrowfield?" he grumbled. "That place smelled like a bog full of corpses on the best of days."

"Thanks for that imagery," she said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "I was thinking it's time to go help with repopulation things. The towns we made are too small now, so it's probably time we start expanding what's there, if not establishing some other villages in general."

Malroth frowned, accepting the logic but still unsure. "Two things. First, are you sure you're gonna be okay with Mister Voice in your head?"

Crea sighed. "I can't put my life on hold just because he's there."

"You don't think he's going to cause problems?"

"Even if he does, I've got you to keep me grounded. Remember?"

Malroth pursed his lips. "Fine. I still say we talk to Esther about it. Second, isn't going and doing it yourself against the point of  _ them _ becoming builders in the first place?"

Crea turned, hand on her hip as she looked him in the eye. "You really expect me to say no?"

He pouted. "How will they learn if you always swoop in?"

"Same way you learned," she grinned. "I'm gonna hover until they're so annoyed they do it themselves."

Sitting up, Malroth snorted. He'd remembered  _ those _ days. He was glad they were behind him now, even if he was still kinda slow with putting things together. 

"By the way, wasn't there a letter from Damara?" Crea asked, turning around the room. "I glanced through the other letters, but I didn't see it."

"Oh!" Malroth jumped, thinking back to what he did with it, patting his pockets. He heard the distinct crinkling and pulled it out, grinning triumphantly as he held it up.

"You didn't even read it?" she asked, eyebrow raising as she approached the bed. "I would've thought you read that first. You look forward to her letters more than I do."

"I was a bit preoccupied, remember?" Malroth grumbled, letting her take the letter from his hand and crossing his arms. "You started yelling at me and then told me about a dumb voice and then passed out for three days. Bit more pressing than a letter from my mentor-become-parent."

"I know, I'm sorry," Crea grimaced, ripping the envelope open with her finger. "I think I'm feeling better now, at least." 

She pulled a thick wad of paper, folded in two parts. Damara often sent letters to them individually but in the same envelope, and this time proved no different. Crea separated the top letter and handed it to him. Malroth reached out for it with an excited smile, giddy anticipation gripping his heart. She was the only person who wrote to him, and she'd started doing it after Crea mentioned him reading over her shoulder enough. It was yet another kindness she afforded them, taking care of them like they were her own. He appreciated it.

Malroth brought the letter back and unfolded it carefully, grinning as he saw it addressed to "Little Star." It had been yet another thing that had developed over a year of writing. He had thanked her once, remembering the pep talk she'd given about worth and stars. Stars aren't pretty and cool just because he thought so, he remembered– they just  _ are. _ Same with him. He wasn't good because anyone said so. He just was.

It had taken some time to take to heart. But Damara had encouraged him at every step, eventually calling him her little star. It tickled him more than he'd ever admit out loud.

Eagerly he pored over the letter.

_ Little Star, _

_ I greatly enjoyed reading about your vacation home. It sounds like you found an island that wouldn't kill you after all! I'm sure Crea is pleased too, provided she takes breaks. Although, I'm certain you're more than happy to take that into your capable hands. Crea mentioned your help in hunting for metal slimes in her last letter, how wonderful for you to help her! I know that's important to her and I'm proud of you for doing it. She, and I, appreciate you, Malroth. I hope you know it. _

_ I also enjoyed reading about your various building endeavors. I remember when you were here last (has it truly been a year?) you were so unsure of yourself about it. I'm gladdened to hear of your newfound confidence! You must be proud of your progress, my star. I should think you deserve it. I look forward to when I can come visit and see all your creations for myself. Once things finally settle down around here with revitalizing the island, I think I'll be able to manage it. Hopefully not long now. _

_ As for me and Aletia, Isra and her family went back to Uralir recently, as well as most of the townsfolk we brought with us initially. There are plenty of survivors in the fortress now, so we could afford it. I will miss them, having lived with many of them all my life, but they'll never be too far. I'm told the portraits of my parents survived so I intend to have them delivered to me here on the island. It will be good to see them again.  _

_ In other news, we led a small expedition to Calor recently as well. You'd probably have liked it– loads of bones. In hindsight, I should've gotten some for you. That necklace of yours could use some spare pockets for medicine, don't you think? :) Anyway, Calor will probably stay empty for many years. Most of the place was destroyed beyond recognition, and it still smelled pretty bad inside the city itself. We'll let nature keep cleaning the place up and we'll return when we have need of it. Those city walls could stand for a century.  _

_ Other than that, Ferrum finally returned to Sessan. She is good, although still brash. We have a new blacksmith here that she trained before she left. They seem capable, and Ferrum was pleased before leaving. If she of all people was visibly pleased, I have no doubt of their skill. It will be quieter without her here, though. _

_ I hope things continue to go well for you on the Isle. Perhaps it is nostalgia at having so many move out this last week, but I do miss you and Crea deeply. You especially are clever, and wonderfully devoted. I miss your energy, even if you are a bit stubborn about it. It simply suggests your loyalty, I think. Your curiosity and desire to learn were contagious when you were here. I can only imagine what it's like now. Stay true to it, little star. I hope I never hear of you losing that spark. _

_ Keep taking care of Crea for me. Heaven knows she wouldn't eat or sleep or bathe without you there to remind her. She's brilliant, it's true, but we all need a little help, don't we? I know you'll keep helping in your own quiet way. It makes all the difference. _

_ I hope to hear from you soon, my little star. _

_ Devotedly yours, _

_ Damara _

Malroth sighed happily, letting his hands fall to his lap. It was nice to have someone else express their appreciation once in a while, especially someone as experienced as her. Sure there was Bonanzo and Den and Gerome with experience and such, but there was something about Damara particularly that felt like not only he was being encouraged and guided, but respected too. She'd never been afraid of him for being different, and he gave the respect back tenfold.

"You look pleased," Crea grinned, putting her letter back into the envelope. 

"Hey, I get  _ one _ letter a week, unlike you," he smirked, refusing to shy away from her jab. "I'm allowed to enjoy it if I wanna."

"I didn't say you couldn't enjoy it," she teased, grin still wide on her features. "Just saying you look tickled. Is she laying the compliments on thick again?"

"You're just jealous she doesn't have a cute name for you," he said, sticking his tongue out through his smile.

She stuck her tongue out right back, still playing along. "Eh, maybe you should go live with her if you put that much stock into cute names, huh?" She winked playfully. 

A devilish look glinted in Malroth's eyes along with his teasing smirk. Haphazardly he threw the letter aside, bolting up from the bed to encircle her in his arms from the side and pretending to growl. Crea shrieked in laughter, tucking her arms close to keep him from tickling her. He nibbled her ear, laughing along.

"Alright, alright, ah!" Crea giggled, scrunching her neck down so he couldn't get at that either. "You win, I'm sorry!"

Malroth loosened his grip enough to let her turn, facing him directly. Laughter still rested on his lips and he couldn't help but truly smile, eyes crinkling as he set his forehead against hers, giggles passing between them. 

"I sure do love you," he whispered, staring lovingly into her eyes.

Crea hummed. "And I you." She grabbed her pendant resting at her ribcage. "I'm glad you're with me."

Malroth swayed with her for a quiet moment, his smile softening. "Furrowfield tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Furrowfield tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here I am again with your mid-month update! I'm still alive and such. at this point in my writing I've finished up with furrowfield, and I'm in the early stages of Khrumbul-dun. lots of tricky things there because I've never written a suspense/mystery before 🤷 but it's fun so far despite not knowing how to do what I want in the narrative! 
> 
> I'm 17 chapters in which indicates to me this one will be... a bit longer than the last story, considering how much stuff I want to cram into moonbrooke and the after-place. which is good times I guess? 
> 
> anyhow. thanks for being patient with me! I'll keep doing mid-month updates I think, until I get it all down. 
> 
> oh yeah! and I want to change the title of this fic, so don't panic when next update has a different one. :3
> 
> much love! 😘


	4. The Return to Furrowfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So when the sun is coming up and you go_   
>  _And there's still so many things you don't know_   
>  _Don't you look back, I've no doubt that I_   
>  _Will meet you on the road_
> 
> In which they go to Furrowfield.

"I am sorry, my lamb, I'm afraid I don't know anything about expelling voices."

Malroth pursed his lips. He'd demanded he and Crea visit with Esther before taking off, in the hopes that maybe she would have a solution. Or at least some sort of band-aid. Crea had felt nervous about admitting to any of the islanders about her problem, but Esther had always been a little different. Even as far back as on Moonbrooke she was always kind, and never relented to the paranoia that was common then. She was one of the few that Malroth had never lost his respect for, despite everything that happened. 

"You can't do anything to keep it quiet, maybe?" he asked, shifting his weight between his feet.

Esther sighed. "I am a believer of the Divine, but that doesn't make me magical. I can pray to the Goddess in the hopes she will take mercy, but there's little more I can do than that."

Crea took Malroth's hand, startling him from whatever he was going to say. "Thanks for trying," she said, pulling gently on his arm. "We're hoping it's not that big of a deal. Just keep putting in a good word for us and I'm sure we'll be fine."

Esther bowed as they turned to leave. "Of course! I will always continue to do so. Safety guide you on your journey."

They left the castle in silence, padding through the snow as they made their way back to the grassland.

"It was worth a try," Malroth grumbled. 

Crea drifted over to him, squeezing his hand. He stopped abruptly when they were in the shadow of the tunnel leading back to the gardens, tugging on her hand gently to pull her into an embrace. Tucking her chin, she nestled her face into his neck.

"Somehow I feel like that made it worse," Malroth said. 

Crea laughed softly. "You did your best. And she did too."

"My best is nothing short of getting it out of your head."

"No." She shook her head. "Your best is helping me. You're doing that."

A cool breeze rushed through the tunnel, making the hair on his arms stand on end from the goosebumps.

"It's gonna be fine," he murmured. 

"You telling me or you?" she murmured back.

He didn't have an answer for that. Instead he just held her tighter, feeling her pendant dig into his skin. There was a weight inside his chest he couldn't explain, one that made him want to take her and hide away for the rest of forever. But she wouldn't stop for anything or anyone, not even him. Not when building was on the line. Not when people needed her help. 

They went straight to the dock after, taking the relatively new-ish bridge she'd constructed between the southern grasslands to the mountain. It was a straight shot to Brownbeard's ship from there, whose captain dutifully awaited them with a grin and a wave with a crayon in his hand. 

With the sun on her face and the wind at her back, Crea closed her eyes as the spray of the ocean misted across her cheeks. The smell of the ocean filled her lungs and she sighed happily. It was true that she loved building and helping in any capacity she could, but there was an undetectable wanderlust that grew in her heart. She never really noticed it until she was on the way to somewhere else. And while Furrowfield was familiar, she didn't know every nook and cranny like she did the Isle. It would be nice to scope things out like they did when they first arrived. 

"So what's our plan?" Malroth asked from his customary spot atop the bow. 

"What do you mean?"

He cast an unassuming glance over his shoulder. "Oh come on. It's not like you to _not_ have at least a couple of plans before starting a project."

Crea chuckled. "I have some ideas, yes."

"I was gonna guess no less than five options."

"Something like that," she snorted, pulling out her hand drawn map of Furrowfield's island. "Granted we have to take stock of the main farm, but I was thinking that if they have enough people and resources for it, we could rebuild some of the destroyed settlements we found from when we first explored the place."

"You mean like the mini farm where we found Clayton?" he asked, swinging his feet around to face her directly. 

"Good memory," she said, making him beam. "Yeah, that one's up to the north, up here." She pointed to a spot on her map. "We might have to dig out part of the mountain to get a tunnel to it, maybe? Or at least mark a safer away across the top. It's not _that_ tall, we could do either."

"Probably depends what Saffron wants," Malroth smirked.

Crea exhaled a long sigh. "Probably. Other than that I was thinking about fixing the mill too… I _think_ there were some old half-houses there we could use for a base? I don't remember exactly. Maybe the houses by the orc's tomato farm could work too, but now that I think about it, I might just build him a house rather than push for a settlement there…"

"Still," he said, leaning forward on his knee to get a better look at the map. "That's two extra villages on top of what you'll expand at the main farm. I don't think they got _that_ many new people in a year."

Crea hummed. "I mean, Saffron didn't exactly say…"

"She's always been good at skirting the subject, hasn't she?"

"Hush," she said, shooting a playful glare up to meet his smug smirk. "Worst comes to worst, we can make up plans on the fly to fix up the church if we need to. Make some houses down there if anybody wants. The ghost might appreciate some company."

"Hopefully we don't have to," Malroth said, tilting his head a bit as he kept staring at the map. "What's that bit?" he asked, pointing at a bright green spot on the southern edge of the island. 

"This?" she said, pointing at it. "That's Pastor Al's house. Or… I guess it _was."_

Malroth hummed at it thoughtfully. "Could be nice to restore it," he said after a moment. 

Crea grinned. "Ever my sentimentalist, huh?"

"It could be fun!" he insisted.

"I didn't say it couldn't be!"

"Yeah, well…" He trailed off, grumbling. 

She laughed. "You have something in mind for it?"

Brightening, his cheeks turned a slight pink. "It, uh… could be fun to do what we did to the canyon house."

"Hey, and you could design it this time!" she said, enthused. "And then you could tell _me_ what to do!"

Malroth pointed at her accusingly. "No way! We do this together or not at all. Though… I'll leave the greenifying-the-grass stuff to you. That stuff is straight up magic."

Crea laughed once more. "Fine by me. But if Al's minion is still hanging around there, it'll be _your_ job to get him away. I don't need a monster bodyguard."

"Yeah! Cos you've already got me, and I'm monstrous enough for three people probably." Malroth put his hands on his hips, triumphant.

Rolling her eyes, Crea put her head in her hands. "Oh Goddess…"

Malroth simply laughed.

* * *

It was dusk when they landed. The smell of the spoiled soil was less pungent than in the past, but it still made both of them turn their nose in disgust. Malroth felt a revolted shiver pass down his spine. He really hated the… _squelchiness_ of this place. 

"Which do you think smelled worse?" Crea asked as they stepped off the ship. "This, or Aletia when it was burning?"

"Here," he said instantly. He could remember the smell of smoke and burning flesh, but that was easy enough to get _away_ from. This stuff lingered in his nose, thwarting any and all attempts to get rid of it. He stuck out his tongue. 

"I would've thought the Deitree would've spread here by now," she wondered aloud. "I wonder if it's just that slow, or if there's something stopping it somehow."

"One way to find out," Malroth said, taking bold strides off the dock and onto the mossy ground. "And the sooner we get to town, the better."

"We can warp," Crea reminded. 

He didn't stop. "You don't want to see how far it's gone?" he called over his shoulder. 

She nodded slowly, rolling her eyes a little as she conceded his point. Jogging off the dock, she followed him, his determined pace giving him a noticeable head start as she tried to catch up under the fading light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! mid-month update a day early because I have something else I wanna post for sinday. I mean sunday. :3c
> 
> things continue to go well for writing, I'm nearly finished with Khrumbul-dun! as you may have noticed by my zillion tags I added. also considering my state shut down everything for covid-19, I'm going to be spending a lot of time at my house in the near future. so hopefully that helps. XD I think Moonbrooke and After(TM) are going to go much quicker, I've been dreaming of all that angst since I started this in November >:D cough.
> 
> anyhow. hope y'all are safe and healthy, and if you're not healthy I hope you feel better soon. if you're doing the social distancing/isolation thing, reach out to others online so you don't get caught up in stir crazy! feel free to ramble at me in the comments if you need a friend :) I respond to it all! take care of yourselves!


	5. The Deitree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea and Malroth arrive in town.

The ghosts were as bad as they'd always been, chasing them in the darkness of the open field. Still, they were no match for Malroth's strength and experience, especially considering how strong he'd become since the first time he fought ghosts around this island. Most monsters had mellowed a bit in the year after learning Hargon and their religion was dead, but not all of them. Ghosts were the main offenders of "not caring enough to stop," as they'd put it. They were already dead anyway. What did they care? 

In any case, the protection of the Deitree was a welcome relief. Monsters didn't care much for that _fresh_ smell, so they stayed well enough away. But the spoiled soil changed into healthy green grass and Crea stopped, looking around with a frown on top of a small rocky outcrop. Malroth stopped a couple steps ahead of her, turning back with an unspoken question on his lips. 

"I _definitely_ thought the Deitree would've spread farther than _this,"_ she said quietly.

"Wasn't this where we rescued Rosie?" Malroth asked, looking around. 

Crea nodded glumly, looking forlornly off at the Deitree in the distance as she nervously fidgeted with her pendant in her fingers. "It's not very far at all for an entire year, is it?"

Pursing his lips at her sudden gloominess, he turned back to the valley. "Maybe it spread farther on the other side," he said, trying to instill hope. "We've been here all of like five minutes, y'know."

"Yeah," she said, sighing as she began to walk forward. "But I doubt we'll get any answers tonight. It's getting late."

"I doubt that'll stop them," he grinned. "They'll probably swarm you for how awesome you are and stuff. Saffron especially."

Crea groaned. "Can we just camp here?" she grumbled. "She means well, but please. Just ask a straightforward question. Goddess, _please."_

Malroth laughed, taking her hand. "I know. Don't worry, soon enough we'll be off building and none of them will have time to bug us."

"I hope so," she said, giving a tired smile. "Alright, let's get this over with."

They followed the greenery to the south, around the large rock formation and in through the gate on the western side. Crea grinned at the bell when she saw it, reflecting the light of the ceramic sconces like stars on its surface. The Deitree too looked phenomenal up close, the quiet sounds of the town behind it muffled further through the bark and leaves at its base. They crept quietly between the two, the tree and the bell, making for the small cluster of buildings at the opposite corner. She knew she could make a small room for the two of them in record time, and out of the way to boot. Crea bit her lip, hoping that they'd be able to sleep and rest before having to posture in front of so many people. 

"Hey! Who's there?"

She winced at the man's voice. _As if._

"Ask us tomorrow," Malroth called, dropping his voice a little to mask his identity. "It's late and we're tired."

"But there aren't any…? Hey, wait a minute! Y'all are Malroth and Crea!"

Crea sighed and Malroth turned to her apologetically. "Sorry," he murmured. "I tried."

Rippled shouts of their names traveled back through the darkness, bringing more and more people out into the open. Crea stepped up the ledge to where she'd left her workbench, smoothing her hand across the small, worn surface. It'd been a while since she was here last, not even having time to update her blueprint books to include all the things she'd learned on the other islands. She grinned. Furrowfield would look nice with an updated look.

"Crea!"

She turned at Saffron's voice, seeing her emerge from within the small crowd that had formed around the workspace.

"Crea, I'm so glad you're here!" She spoke without waiting for a greeting, dramatically taking Crea's hand. "We've been so pressed for space, I was beginning to wonder if you'd _ever_ come see us again! Now, we have more than thirty people than before, so we're short on bed space, you know? We've taken to rotating who sleeps in one. Of course, this means the kitchen is all too crowded too and—"

"Saffron," Malroth growled. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She looked at him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and unease. "Malroth, you know where the timepiece is. I don't know what time it is."

He gestured around them. "It's _late._ You don't really expect her to build through the night, do you?"

"Hasn't stopped her before!"

"Except I made her stop doing that a long time ago!"

"Since when are you her caretaker?" Saffron scoffed.

"Um," Crea said, taking her hand back from her grasp. "Saffron. We're dating."

Saffron blanched, meeting Malroth's smug expression. "...Oh."

"That said," Crea added, "we won't infringe on your shortage. I'd like to build a little room over here for us anyway. Out of the way and whatnot."

Saffron smirked, Malroth's argument forgotten. "Bit of a honeymoon suite?"

"Y'know, we could just leave," Crea said nonchalantly, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "You guys know how to build so technically you don't even need us here—"

"Wait, I'm sorry!" Saffron said, burying her face in her hands and shaking. "I didn't mean it! I'll leave you to it and see you in the morning, alright?" Without waiting for a response, she turned around, ushering the small crowd away with her.

"Charming as always," Malroth grumbled, walking to Crea's side. "Why do people like to comment on that part of our relationship? They make it sound like it should be embarrassing."

She shrugged, starting to pull wooden blocks and planks from her bag. "Because _they're_ the ones that're embarrassed, I think. But never mind. You want to do the walls? I'm thinking pretty small, mostly big enough for a bed and a dresser. And maybe a couch."

They set up under the small tree on the hill, repurposing some old remains that still occupied the area. Crea pointed at various places on the ground to outline the walls, and Malroth paid careful attention to her instructions, his face scrunched in concentration. She turned away to deal with the floor and he got to work, meticulously lining each piece before he set it in. He remembered as he worked that she'd previously described it as thorough, and had often praised him for the durability of his creations because of it. Truthfully, he was just happy to be able to help, and he'd grown used to her patience. He didn't stress about it as much as he used to. But even for his unwavering pace, he still finished before she was done picking the furniture. And the colors. 

"I thought you'd be ready by now," Malroth said with a yawn, flexing his tired fingers. "It's getting late."

"I know," she protested, giving him a sconce to hang outside the door. "Just a minute more."

Struggling to affix it in the dark, Malroth finally managed after several minutes to line it up to the door and light the ceramic tray. The warm glow reflected his own contentment with the small little house, and came back in to find her adjusting pillows on the couch. 

"Was I that slow?" he questioned, wondering if his sense of time had been wrong. Crea just turned and smiled, immediately calming his fears. 

"Nah, I'm just quick," she said with a yawn. She patted the bed. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I can do the bathroom tomorrow, if you don't mind?"

Malroth grinned, removing his jacket and turning off the light as he climbed into bed. "Whatever you want, builder."

* * *

Crea sighed happily, sitting and staring up into the tall branches of the Deitree from the freshly made roof to their little bedroom. The sun was a ways off from cresting the mountains, and yet the cacophony of birdsong was mesmerizing. She leaned back on her palms. It was uncommon that she woke before Malroth, but she figured she was too excited at the prospect of solving builder problems that she'd roused herself before sunlight. Given that she couldn't see the rest of the town to make a plan, Crea had decided to finish the tiny house with a roof instead. Malroth always slept like the dead anyway, so laying the roof wasn't a bother to him who snored through the entirety of it. It made her laugh, truthfully. She wished she could do that. 

Crea had wanted to start the bathroom too, but then the birds had started, captivating her from her work. Even though it'd been over a year since the world had been made "real", she still had moments of plain appreciation for the little details of their world. Birds, frogs, burbling water, the rustling of grass– each colored the world with beauty that she couldn't help but love.

In a way, she'd _made_ that. It was probably her crowning achievement, all things considered. 

"Why are you _up_ here?"

Crea blinked at Malroth's voice, turning her head to see him clambering up over the edge of the roof. She smiled as he approached, sitting down next to her and bumping her shoulder with his own. 

"Just appreciating things," Crea said, looking back up at the Deitree. "I was about to start on the bathroom after finishing the roof but then the birds started singing."

Malroth cocked his head to the side, following her gaze and listening. He smiled after a moment. "So they did. They're loud."

"I expect that a lot of them like that it's clean," Crea giggled. "Unlike the rest of the island, unfortunately. Probably a hot commodity to have any space in there at all, at this point."

"Kinda like the rest of the town," Malroth observed. 

Crea dropped her head, looking out at the town under the new day's light. Everything had been left just as it was, entirely the same from their visit. She hadn't considered it like that before– the town being constricted like a tree, unable to spread out unless it grew the branches itself. Or that its residents just didn't know how to build their nests yet.

"I guess it's time we build some extra branches for them, then," she grinned, rising to her feet. "And it's time this Mama Bird kicked them out of the nest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! hope you're all staying safe and healthy out there. and not stir-crazy with all the shelter-in-place stuff going on everywhere. 
> 
> I've been getting an itch to write lately, and I've gotten our heroes all the way to Moonbrooke! again. (it's going as well as you'd expect for them.) I'm optimistic about my progress, and considering I'm all the way through chapter 29 now... I'm going to start updating more often! (yay!) Right now I'm thinking twice a month so I don't get in over my head (probably the 15th and 30th), but depending on how well my current enthusiasm goes, maybe I'll upgrade to daily :D I'm only a liiiiittle concerned because the angst gets pretty angsty, and I'm aware that a lot of people are that are looking for happy fluff escapism while we're dealing with the state of the world, so if that's what you're looking for you may wanna take a pass on this one until you can handle some angst. Cos this fic is going places. (Always a happy ending because I _need_ it, but boy howdy at some point it hits the gas and doesn't let up.) So, just be aware that that's... a thing.
> 
> anyway. love you all! take care of yourselves <3


	6. The Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they form groups.

It was witchcraft, Malroth decided, how Crea always seemed to be able to pull huge things out from her bag. Then again, there were a lot of things he chalked up to her just being amazing. It would ruin the magic to know how that all worked, so he never asked. On the other hand, it confused him tremendously how a hexagonal builder's table with four huge volumes of blueprints could fit in a bag only a tenth of its size, if not smaller. That required knowing _how_ to ask the question, which he definitely did not. So instead, he asked about what he knew he would understand. 

"So, got any ideas for what you want to do with the place yet?"

Crea smiled, not looking up from the table. "At this point, it's more a checklist than a plan. We'll have to split up the villagers, decide who's going to build up here or out at the other spots we're planning on. Or maybe they'll all want to work together and decide later who's staying where. I dunno." She pulled out a large volume from under the table, letting it hit the top side with a loud thud. Leafing through the pages, Malroth recognized blueprints of complete buildings she'd made back on the Isle. "In the meantime, I've gotta expand the dorm to accommodate… hmm, maybe twenty more beds? Actually, maybe I'll just start building houses, geez. Plus Saffron complained that the kitchen was too small now, so maybe if I just made a full diner she'd have more room to move around…"

Malroth hummed. "Sounds like a lot."

Crea finally looked up at him. "You don't sound too bothered about it."

He grinned. "I like seeing you build and plan and stuff. It makes me happy that you're happy."

"And you can help! That makes _me_ happy." She returned the smile.

"Creaaaa!"

They both turned to Saffron's whiny cry. Billowing dress sweeping around her ankles, she marched in with a handful of farmers behind her like sheep. Hadn't taken long for her to start ruling the roost, Crea thought. 

"Crea!" Saffron said again, sounding extremely demanding. "Thank goodness you're awake. I was wondering about the uh… erm… what you'd start on first! Yes. That." She grinned in an attempt to sway them into her favor, but instead it pushed them right over a cliff. 

"I'd like to see your attempts first, if you don't mind," Crea said calmly. Malroth did his best to hide a smug giggle when Saffron's face paled.

"Our attempts at what?" she stammered. 

"Building beds," Crea said. "Or walls. When I left after building the Deitree, everyone was a certified builder. What happened that I had to come and do it for you?"

Saffron laughed nervously, wringing her apron in her hands. The crowd at her back stuttered too, averting their eyes to look at anything but Crea. A gentle murmur swept through them, until one voice carried over the rest. 

"The Prophetess returns!"

Malroth tilted an eyebrow as he watched a straw hat weave to the front of the group, and he laughed when its owner emerged to the front, bounding to Saffron's side. "Well if it isn't Tommy Tillsalot."

Clayton saluted badly, seemingly torn between it and a bow. "Foremost follower of the Children of Crea, reporting in! No luck on converting that tomato Orc yet, but we'll get there, I'm sure."

Malroth scoffed. "You forgot to keep up on the humans."

He startled. "What do you mean?"

"We had to come to fix your problems– _again,"_ Malroth said. "There's a boatload of you! What happened to you guys being all gung-ho about building? Why not do it yourself?"

"Because Crea's is better!" Saffron pouted. Murmurs of agreement through the crowd encouraged her to exaggerate her pout. 

"Oh, for the Goddess…" Crea mumbled, rubbing her face for a moment before straightening up, her posture making her seem taller than she was. "Listen, you think my first attempts at building were always awesome? I've had loads of practice! And with _way_ more of a head start than all of you, since I didn't come from a place that vilified creation. Did you all _start_ as perfect farmers in your lifetimes? Or did you take time to learn and practice?"

Vague mumbles answered her, all eyes flitting around to avoid her gaze. 

"I'm only here to supervise," she added. _"You're_ all gonna do the work, okay? I'm just gonna make sure nobody dies in the process."

"You're not honestly going to _just watch,_ are you?" asked a female voice. 

Crea grinned. "Who's asking?"

A light-blue-haired farmer waved hesitantly from the front row, her freckles visible even from several feet away. "Name's Poppy, miss."

Crea waved back, mimicking her hand motions. "Well, you're right. I'm a builder after all, and builders build. I'll find something to keep me busy, but it won't be the same as yours. How's that?"

"Will there be a lot?" asked a male voice. At Crea's distracted expression, he added, "Ashby, by the way." He waved, his white hair drawing attention to himself in contrast to his dark skin.

Crea shrugged. "I'll admit that I don't think it's a lot, but my standards are different. As it is, we need to expand around here, that much is obvious. Aside from that, I've selected two locations to develop for further settlements: one at the old mill, and the other at Clayton's farm."

"W-Wait!" Clayton blurted, alarmed. "What makes it _my_ farm?" 

"It's where we found you," she said, shrugging.

He fell silent, a wordless _oh_ lingering on his lips. 

"The thing to decide," Crea added, "is if we divide and conquer, or all work together on each site at a time. It makes no difference to me, so it's really up to you guys."

Murmurs broke out among the crowd again, each turning to their neighbor to discuss. Crea surveyed the group for a moment before looking back at Malroth, who smiled reassuringly. She smiled back, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

"Bets on what they'll pick?" she asked quietly. 

"Pff," he scoffed. "They'll work together for sure. There hasn't been a town yet that didn't cling to each other like a school of fish."

"You think so?" she hummed. "I thought they'd be excited at the idea of more towns enough that they wouldn't want to wait. Why help expand something if you're not even gonna use it?"

"Good question," he said, smile widening. "Why would you do that on all the islands we've ever visited?"

Crea pouted. "I meant for _them,_ not for me."

Malroth shrugged, laughing. 

"I say we work together!" Saffron shouted, bringing the crowd to a hush. Malroth grinned, raising an eyebrow at Crea. She rolled her eyes. 

"We should split," Clayton countered. "There's a lot of us, so if too many of us stick together, some people won't get to build. We can't have that!"

Murmurs, nodding heads and folding arms, obviously differing viewpoints among the huge group. Crea looked back at Malroth, pointing at Clayton with a silent, enthusiastic expression. Malroth stuck his tongue out. 

"But community!" Saffron pouted. "Besides, it'll go quicker with all of us. Remember the Deitree?"

"I remember you practically pushing me off the side cos there were so many of us up there at a time," Clayton scowled. "Plus, that was a matter or urgency. This is not."

"Not urgent!" Saffron echoed, putting her hands on her hips with a frown. "As if! We need a lot of help to be comfortable around here!"

"We'll need a lot more help to get the other places to even be livable," Clayton said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "It would be nice to come back to a bed in the evening if someone else would make it for us back here at the same time!"

"Alright, alright," Crea interrupted, quelling both sides as she raised her hands. "You've both made your points. There are advantages to both, like you said. I think I have an idea, though." Crea began pointing. "Everyone who agrees with Saffron, go stand behind her. Everyone who agrees with Clayton, stand behind him."

There were several moments of confusion before people started to move, talking amongst themselves about which viewpoint they liked more, or reminding each other about the options to begin with. Crea was glad to hear overall laughter as people began to congregate behind each leader, relieved that none of them seemed to be put out about this arrangement.

Malroth leaned over, his head hovering over her shoulder. "What're you planning?" he whispered. 

She smiled. "You'll see."

Eventually the crowds grouped into two clear halves, pretty close to even as far as Crea could tell without counting. The excited talking continued to grow, and Crea put her hands up to call attention again.

"Here's the plan," she said, pointing at each group as she addressed them. "Saffron's group gets to stay here in town and work on building here. You'll need to expand the dorm and the diner accordingly. Clayton and his group get to go to the other sites and build there. Deal?"

Muted nodding was all she could see, so she clapped her hands together.

"Great! I'll accompany Clayton to the other site and get things going, and then I'll come back here to start the rest of you. Get yourselves ready in 15 minutes, and then we'll go."

The crowds dispersed in loud chattering, and Crea watched them for several seconds before turning completely back to her workbench. She smiled tiredly at Malroth, who was perched on a corner of the table. 

"I'd say that went well," Malroth grinned. 

"Thanks," she exhaled. She pulled a volume of recipes from underneath the table, flipping through it absentmindedly, reviewing the pieces she would need to teach them. "There's a lot more people than I realized. Saffron underestimated by a lot."

"And you're surprised by this?"

She pursed her lips. "Well… no. But I'm not sure if that means things will go faster or slower with more hands."

"Probably slower to start, faster to finish." Malroth shrugged. "And if it ends up being super fast, maybe we can spend a couple days at Pastor Al's before we head over to Khrumbul-Dun."

Crea looked up slyly. "You really wanna fix that place up, huh?"

He snorted. "Just wanna make sure I get some _quality time_ with my best friend, y'know?"

She rolled her eyes, but kept a smile as she looked back down at her book. She was deep in thought for several seconds, mindlessly turning her pendant between her fingers, before she flinched violently, jerking her head to the side with a scrunched expression. Malroth was at her side before she could look back, hands on her shoulders and searching her face. 

"What is it?" he asked lowly.

With a long exhale, she slowly released her tension enough to be able to peek at him with one eye.

His grip tightened a little. "What did he say?"

"He said I was clever," she croaked, shutting her eye again. "And brilliant because of my planning. And resourcefulness. And delegating. That I'm… a good leader…"

Malroth wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close in a protective embrace. _Compliments?_ he wondered. _Why?_

"It was fast," she mumbled. 

"It's okay," he soothed, rubbing her shoulder blade with his thumb. "You're safe. I'm not gonna let it get to you, remember?"

Crea nodded against his chest. 

"Hey, Crea!" 

They heard Clayton's voice and they turned, seeing him waving at them. "If you lovebirds are done, we're all ready!"

Malroth looked down. "Are you okay to go?"

"Yeah," she said with a shaky nod. "Just caught me off guard."

"If you feel sick I can carry you," he said, letting her untuck from his embrace. 

"I know," she said, taking a few careful steps. She looked back at him when she felt sturdy. "I'm alright. You coming?"

He nodded resolutely, unease prodding at his mind as he followed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meant to post this yesterday but the day got away from me. XD oops. happy may! stay safe out there.


	7. The Settlement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they build and break.

Joining up with Clayton, they met with the rest of the group and set off north. Crea didn't watch much where she was going, but focused on her feet as she contemplated with mild confusion the words that still lingered in her mind. She wasn't _scared…_ not really. With Malroth's reassurance grounding her, she was only left to wonder why the words were so strange. 

_Clever…_

She felt Malroth elbow her, and she shook her head, looking up. "What?" Looking around, she found Clayton smiling broadly back at her. 

"You look deep in thought," he said. "I was curious what builder tasks you were focusing so hard on."

"Oh…" Crea looked forward in the direction of the farm, the rocky ridge closer than she realized. She smiled weakly. "Sorry. Uh… I was thinking about how to make an easier way over the outcrop there."

"Ah!" Clayton nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I remember that climb. Most considerate of you. Is that what we'll do first?"

Crea shook her head. "I was thinking you could all get started on setting up buildings and prepping fields instead. Clean up around here."

Alarm sprung on Clayton's face, and then melted into a sheepish expression. "Um… how do you propose we do that?"

"Same way we did before," she said, giving him an equally incredulous look. "Why? Did you forget how?"

"Miss Crea," he continued, his gaze falling down to observe the mossy ground beneath them. "You took Furrowfield's last Wiggly with you to the Isle. We… _can't_ make fields. Not away from the Deitree, that is."

She stopped in her tracks, freezing as she stared at the outcrop ahead of them, not even registering the townsfolk that had started to climb. _How…?_ She shook her head in disbelief. How had she forgotten? It was so much unlike her to forget such an important detail like that. She exhaled, long and sad. _That'll be so much wasted time if we go back to fetch Wrigley…_

Malroth gripped her shoulder gently. "Hey," he said quietly. "It's okay. You just thought the Deitree would've done more by now."

"I didn't even come up with a backup plan," she murmured, still transfixed on nothing. "That's… not normal. I usually think of everything. I make seven plans for everything, that's what you've always said."

He squeezed reassuringly. "We all make mistakes. It's alright."

"Can I afford mistakes?"

Malroth blinked. "Yes?" he intoned, unsure of himself. "What time limit are we being held to? Who's making demands?"

Crea chewed her lip, uncertainty eclipsing her features. 

"Hey," he said again. "It'll be fine. You'll see. We'll figure something out. We always do, after all."

She sighed in defeat. "Alright," she said. "But if we haven't figured out how to purify the soil or get the Deitree to expand more within a week, I'm sending someone back for Wrigley."

"Deal," Malroth said, grinning. "Now what can we have all these lazy buns do in the meantime?"

Crea snickered, trying to hide a laugh. "It's lazy _bums,_ not buns."

He was relieved at her smile. "Whatever," he said, feigning indignance. "Lodge? Mountain pass? What?"

Crea turned. "Where'd Clayton go?" she wondered aloud, and then saw him scrambling up the rockface behind the other villagers. "Oh, never mind, I see him. I suppose we could divide and conquer for this, too."

"You're big on conquering lately," Malroth said with a cheeky grin. She shot him a look and he laughed. 

They climbed up the side of the pass, not as strenuous as Crea remembered the first time. Granted she was much stronger now, she realized. It really had been a long time. They joined the villagers at the top, many of them glancing hopefully at the small valley. Crea sighed in relief. At least that was comforting.

"So what do you think?" Clayton said, reappearing at her side. "What vision do you have?"

Ignoring Malroth's rolling eyes, she shrugged. "So far I've gotten as far as making that big building over there into a lodge of some sort. Cooking space on the floor with that old fireplace, _maybe_ a tiny upstairs for some beds? Or storage?" She hummed, looking back at the remains of what was left. "There's that other half-building too, so maybe the beds over there. Dunno. What do you think?" she asked, smiling sweetly back at him. Clayton flushed nervously. 

"I like the lodge," a female voice piped up. 

Crea turned to her, then squinted. "It was Poppy, right?"

"That's me!" she said, her pigtails swaying as she nodded her head. "Maybe if we concentrated all our efforts together we could have a place to sleep there. Doesn't have to be where we keep the beds forever, but we wouldn't have to go back to the main village tonight and we could at least finish one thing today."

Crea looked up, calculating how much daylight they had. "Well, it's a bit before midday, so that'd be a little ambitious. Worth trying, but don't kill yourself for it."

Poppy grinned with infectious enthusiasm. 

"Oh," Crea said, turning to Clayton. "While we may not be able to _make_ the fields, you can at least section off where'd they'd go. You might want to cut down the trees on the north corner and put them over there. I'm leaving that to you."

He saluted badly again before running off. "You can count on me!"

"Alright," Crea said, turning her attention back to the group. "As for the rest of us…"

Outlining a basic plan for the lodge, Crea sent the majority of the villagers down with Poppy to set to work filling in the walls and upper floor. Ten others stayed behind to help with carving a tunnel from the mountain, making access to the small valley easier. Malroth grinned widely as he unshouldered his hammer, the rubies in the head glittering brightly in the sunlight. Crea crafted quick mallets for the intimidated bunch, and after some encouragement that Malroth wouldn't be hitting _them,_ they got to work breaking stone. 

"Great," Crea said, brushing dust from her hands. She glanced at Malroth. "That's probably enough for them that we can get back to town, right?"

He grumbled. "But I wanted to help break the rock. What's the point of this awesome hammer if I can't destroy stuff with it?"

"You're welcome to stay," she laughed. "I was going to warp anyway, which I _know_ that you just _love._ I'd only be gone a few hours."

Malroth visibly hesitated, which she noticed and realized. She sighed. 

"I'll be fine. I'm just going to show them where they can push out walls and how to build more floors on top of what they've already got. I can handle that."

"'S not you I'm worried about," he mumbled. 

Crea put a hand on his arm. "I'll come right back to you if he says anything," she whispered. 

"Promise?" he asked, searching her expression. 

"Promise," she said nodding. She raised her necklace pendant up. "Plus, you're always with me."

Malroth smiled, a little reassured. Stepping back, Crea concentrated for a brief moment before disappearing in a flash of blue. He turned to see the villagers chipping at the rock before rolling his shoulders and neck, propping his hammer across the top of his shoulder as he walked. 

"Let's speed this up."

* * *

The afternoon was altogether mundane. Malroth led the way, making guesstimates on the difference in elevation and started at an angle from the bottom. Once the small crew worked to further the angle, he went up to the top to scope out the other side, and began working on a downward slope from the top by himself. His hammer glinted as he swung, using the same power swing he had taught Crea all that time ago. It certainly made things faster. 

After a brief hiccup in lining up the tunnels, resulting in a comical half-hole in Malroth's floor as the other villagers stared up at him from beneath, they managed to connect and smooth out the resulting path. It wasn't the fanciest looking tunnel, but it would serve. Fortunately, they finished as the sun was beginning to set. Unfortunately, as Malroth realized as he was wiping his brow, Crea had been gone for much longer than he thought she would. Concern twisted painfully in his gut. _Do I go looking for her?_ he wondered. _Stay here? She said she'd be fine, and come back if she needed me…_ He chewed his lip thoughtlessly. 

"Mister Malroth!"

He turned, snapping himself from his daze. "Clayton," he acknowledged. "What?"

"I finished sectioning off the area for fields!" he explained with a proud smile. "The main village had five, one for each kind of crop we could grow, so I thought we'd have just as many. Granted there's room for more, provided other such crops exist." Clayton's smile grew. "Do you want to see?"

A light went off in Malroth's mind. "Other crops?" he repeated lamely. 

"Yes," Clayton responded, confused. "Why? Do you think it's too many?"

Visions of fields full of every food they knew how to grow swirled through his mind. On the Isle, he knew they had as many as fifteen, and that was just what they knew of. And they raised meat too. _Does that count?_ he wondered. He shook his head, focusing. "Clayton, you're brilliant."

"Brilliant?" he stammered. "Why, uh, I think that's taking it a _bit_ far."

"The different types of food made the Deitree grow to begin with," Malroth said, excitement rising. "Don't you think growing new things would make it stronger? Increase its size? Expand its influence?"

Clayton stared at him with wide eyes. "I… believe that would stand to reason, yes," he said reverently. 

"Then we could get clean soil for farms here without needing Wrigley, and then we could grow for even more! It's perfect!" Malroth gushed, spinning around. "Hey—"

He stopped, remembering all at once that Crea _still_ wasn't back yet. Staring at the empty space behind himself for several frozen moments, Clayton began to nervously wring his hands together.

"Mister Malroth, sir?" he asked tentatively. 

Malroth blinked, turning back to him with a frown. "She's been gone too long," he said simply. "You keep the villagers on track, build lights and beds so you don't have to go back in the dark. We'll be back soon, maybe tomorrow or the day after. Keep building what you need, you know how."

Clayton nodded, watching Malroth stride off through the new tunnel. "Best of luck!" he called after his retreating back.

Malroth tried to keep himself from running. _She's fine,_ he tried to convince himself. _Just delayed is all. There was… a setback. Yeah. Everything is fine._

But try as he might, he couldn't stifle his anxiety.

Breaking into a jog, he left the tunnel and paused, eyes sweeping over the mossy land. It was mostly trees from his current viewpoint, making him grit his teeth. _What if I pass her?_ he wondered. He didn't much like that thought either. 

Still scrutinizing the landscape, his eyes landed on one tree in the distance, perched atop a hill. Squinting in the fading light, Malroth thought he could make out the silhouette of a person sitting underneath… with very defining hair. 

He ran. He couldn't help it. 

"Crea," he panted as he approached. "Are you okay?"

She smiled weakly at him, and he could see the exhaustion in and under her eyes. "Yeah. Sorry I was taking so long. I got tired of people… I should've come back sooner, I'm sorry."

Malroth caught his breath for a moment before speaking. "As long as you're safe," he said, sitting down beside her. "We don't have to go back."

She exhaled, clearly relieved. "That's good. I don't know where we'll sleep otherwise though. There are still monsters at night and such."

"Al's?" he asked quietly. 

Crea hummed. "That sounds nice, actually. But we'll have to warp…"

"That's fine," he said hurriedly, taking her hand. "My priority is you. Let's go."

She nodded, too tired to argue, and they disappeared in the familiar soft blue glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hit a bit of a writing slump in Moonbrooke... the Crea in my head doesn't like being portrayed as semi-crazy/controlling, so she's fighting me a lot. 😅 ack. still moving things along, just slowly. but that's all the way in chapter 32, so even if I only post twice a month until then that gives me a year. I doubt I'll be stuck _that_ long.
> 
> how are you guys? managing life and things okay? enjoying the whatever's happening in these chapters so far? :3


	8. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they revisit Pastor Al's.

The scenery changed to leave them sitting on the ground in front of the naviglobe. Crea sighed, rocking forward in an attempt to stand. Malroth was faster despite his nausea, kneeling next to her. 

"Do you want me to carry you?"

She looked at him blankly. "I'm tired, not broken. It's alright," she said, slowly rising to her feet. "I just really hope that one apprentice of his has finally left," she mumbled, walking slowly towards the house. 

Fortunately he was indeed gone, leaving the two of them to quietly enter the abandoned place. Malroth could only remember one other time he'd been in here, following Crea to explore it a bit when they'd come to collect the bottomless pot. There was a sort of experimental garden in the basement, as well as one outside in the troughs, despite the water being long gone. It was little wonder that Pastor Al had been a gardening expert.

"We'll need a bed," Crea mumbled, pulling yet another workstation from her bag. He recognized it as her travel station, a smaller table with only the most necessary of recipes in its single tome. "Last we were here he had a… straw mat. I don't think that'll have aged well."

"Probably not," he agreed. Gently, he took her hand from where she set it on her book, holding firmly as he made eye contact. "Let me do it. You can sit and tell me how it went in town."

She nodded gratefully, turning away and sitting on the stairs. Malroth in turn sat on the floor surrounded by wood and fabric– he'd made so many he didn't need to look at the directions anymore. 

Crea sighed, leaning her head against the wall. "It started out well enough. Everyone was helpful for the most part, especially that new guy Ashby. We all talked about what they needed, discussed some options on how to get what they want, and ultimately decided on a bigger base floor and a second story." She waved her hand noncommittally, gesturing at nothing. "Fine. Whatever. They punch out the wall and push it back fifteen feet or so. While we're in the middle of learning how to build a stairwell to the second floor– and how to do  _ that _ in the first place– that was when some folks decided to have a dispute about who was in charge of which stair." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I said stair. Singular."

Malroth looked up from his mostly-assembled bed frame, hands pausing in his work. "You've gotta be kidding."

Crea could only offer a sarcastic smile. "I wish. I was already up to my eyes in regret at not having you with me, and this just made it all the worse." She sighed. "Fortunately, to her credit, Saffron made good on her bossiness to settle everyone down. I went and did the first part of the kitchen expansion myself to thank her for it. And to get away from—" She stopped herself abruptly, rubbing her face. "Oh, I must be tired. I was about to call them some not nice things."

Malroth smirked, standing from the floor. "Well, the good news is we only need sheets and we can get you rested. Got any spares?"

Forcing herself to her feet, Crea produced said sheets as well as some pillows. Typically Malroth liked to tease her if he helped to make the bed, flicking the fabric in such a way as to make it snap out from between her fingers. He sensed her lingering agitation though and let her be. They finally climbed into bed and Crea exhaled heavily, lying flat on her back and staring at the open ceiling. 

"It's a good thing it's warm here at night," she mumbled, "or else I'd really be upset at that hole in the ceiling right about now."

"I would've fixed it while you slept," Malroth said quietly, reaching over to put his hand on her stomach, gently poking at the corners of her locket. "I'd do it right now if you want."

She shook her head, sighing again as she rolled over into his arms. "Tomorrow," she murmured, sleep already starting to settle in her eyes and voice. 

Malroth hummed quietly in agreement, silently stroking her hair until he was certain she was asleep, and then followed her into oblivion.

* * *

He was relieved when he woke before her, even if she had wrapped her arms around his torso like a vice grip, keeping him stuck. Yawning, Malroth stretched as well as he could, settling his arms down around her shoulder. Crea grumbled in her sleep and readjusted, propping her head up on his arm. He smiled softly, tucking hair from her face behind her ear. The action seemed to wake her, making her stir, fluttering her eyes and groaning as she unhooked her arms to stretch. 

"Sorry," he mumbled. 

She hummed. "S'okay."

Malroth felt something come over him in a soft wave, gratitude and admiration blooming in his heart at her innocence. Cupping his hand under her ear, he leaned in and kissed her delicately, and at her contented noises, he pressed further. He loved how they felt together and how she tasted and he let it fuel him, eventually taking her lip gently with his teeth. Crea grimaced and groaned unhappily, pushing his chest to lean away. 

"No," she said quietly, rolling on her back. "Not now. Please."

"Why?" was the only thing he thought fit to ask. 

Her breath shuddered in her throat as she inhaled. "I can't… do it. I felt…" She sighed suddenly, frustrated, clenching her fists at her forehead. "I just… remembered Zeligon…"

Malroth felt his heart sink at the dead Shaman's name. "What about him?"

"That he saw everything… and commented on it too." She shook her head, face still covered by her hands. "I don't want that again. Not with this…  _ thing _ in my head."

_ Oh. Right. _ Malroth sighed, cuddling up next to her and putting his hand on her stomach, mindful not to move her. "It's alright. I get it."

Crea exhaled harshly. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"No," he said firmly, pressing his nose against her arm. "I get it. It's okay. I'm not so insufferable to demand these things from you, am I?"

She blew air from her nose, an indistinct laugh as her hands fell to her side. "No. I know."

A sly grin grew on Malroth's face. "I don't expect you to perform like a circus monkey."

She  _ did _ laugh at that. "Okay okay, I get it." Crea rolled onto her side to smile at him. "Thanks."

He grinned, taking her hand and holding it to his chest. "What's the plan for today?"

She sighed, the weight of the island settling back on her features. He was sorry he asked. "Hopefully as little human interaction as possible. Yesterday was too much."

Malroth flushed. "Err… I did tell Clayton we'd go back potentially today. But I didn't say when, so it could still be late when we go."

"That reminds me," Crea groaned, bringing a hand up to rub her face. "There's no naviglobe there. We'll have to go to town and walk the rest of the way."

"Or the dock," he tried. "Little further, but less people. Less room for error."

She nodded, dropping her hand from her face to the pillow. 

"But that's later," Malroth added. "I think fixing this house would be a good way to distract ourselves today, huh?"

Crea smiled, though he took note of how tired she still looked. "Only if you let me do the roof. I don't want you spending the whole day up there."

He laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm slow, I get it."

"No!" she protested, pouting. "I didn't say that! And anyway, you're  _ thorough." _

"Ah, yes,  _ thorough." _ He smirked. "Builder-speak. Means… slow."

"Ugh, Goddess, maybe you  _ are _ insufferable," she grumbled. He just kept laughing. 

After a brief interlude for a hearty breakfast of pancakes and sausages, they set to work. Crea took to the roof as she'd said, carefully looking over all the shingles to see if any needed replacement before she started on the gaping hole. Malroth took to the inside, repairing cracked floorboards and walls, extending the upstairs loft to fit the bed, and taking down the forgotten altar that once signified the Children of Hargon. A strange wave of nostalgia touched him as he took down the flag from the wall, probably with more reverence than it deserved. Holding it between his hands, Malroth couldn't help but think about Pastor Al and his sacrifice for the Deitree. After all Malroth had seen here at the house, it really wasn't all that surprising that the Pastor had joined them. He'd had a secret garden of his own, after all– tucked away under the house, away from the prying eyes of his superiors. 

Malroth turned, throwing the flag on the table and descending the ladder to said room. It was miraculously well kept, clean soil in the troughs and a covered channel in the floor for running water. He was startled to find a large flower growing in the corner though, its white petals and vibrant green leaves obvious against the backdrop of grey flagstone. Approaching it, he was greeted with an earthy smell mixed with the flower's scent. Malroth took the leaves gently in his hands, taking in the texture. 

It took him a moment too long to realize Crea's hammering had stopped. He blinked, listening carefully, the flower's leaves still fixed between his unmoving fingers.

"Malroth?" he heard her call. "I finished the roof. Where are you?"

"Down here," he called back. "In the cellar."

She descended the ladder a moment later, looking around the small area thoughtfully. "Al really liked plants," she remarked.

"I'm curious where he got all the clean soil," Malroth said. "That can't have been easy."

"That too," she nodded. "What's that?" Crea motioned at the flower he was still holding.

He dropped his hand to the side. "Dunno. It was just here."

She frowned. "It looks like a milkblossom, but… not quite. The shape is all wrong, and the stem is way too bright of a green."

"Oh! I just remembered!" Malroth exclaimed. He turned pink at her confusion. "Sorry. The milkblossom made me think of it. Remember when we were growing the Deitree? That it got bigger and stronger with the more crops and flowers that we grew?"

Crea's eyes glimmered in quick understanding. "You think if we grow more stuff that'll strengthen the Deitree more?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "And hopefully it'll spread enough north that we won't have to bring Wrigley back at all for the settlement."

She clapped her hands together. "Malroth! You're a genius!"

He smiled, beaming. He didn't think he'd ever get over her praise, or her goofy grin when she was so excited. "Hopefully it still works that way," he said. "Though, that means we'd have to get all that started soon back at… You know, I've been thinking," Malroth said. "You think we should name the towns?"

Crea shrugged. "Probably. We can take ideas when we get back, I'm not clever at naming things."

"Hopefully nothing stupid like Claytonville or Saffrontown," he mumbled. "Maybe something cool, like Hammer's Edge, or something naturey, like…" He trailed off, frowning as he thought on it.

"Treeton?" Crea finished, smirking playfully.

"At least that's descriptive," he said thoughtfully. 

"Treeton and Mountainton," she laughed. 

Malroth curled his nose, playfully sticking out his tongue. "Oh no. That one's gotta go. Too much of a mouthful."

"Either way, we'll have to go get those plants going soon," she said, trying to change the subject. "I would think the farmers wouldn't be  _ too _ unreasonable about that, given how long they've simply been farming since we left. Right?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. In any case, I'm going with you this time, so if we need a little intimidation to shut them up, I'm your man." 

Crea smiled gratefully. "I sure hope so. I doubt things would've gotten that far last time had you been there." She held out her hand. "Shall we warp?"

Instinctively he stuck out his tongue in dismay, but he took her hand anyway.

"I know, I know," she laughed. "One day we'll get you used to it again."

A soft blue glow, and they were gone before he could protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand just as fast as they appeared, they left again. Much warping, very wow. *headdesk*
> 
> it's almost june? what du heck? and I'm still writing Moonbrooke angst? double heck! (Malroth is so grumpy about being there he's refusing to cooperate. which, I don't blame him, but my dude, I've got a story to finish plz. The sooner the proverbial crap hits the fan, then the sooner we get to the fluffy after parts, right?? *sigh*)
> 
> anyway. hope you're hanging in there! you got this! <3


	9. The Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are made and surprises are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here come the cliffhangers again :D I'm only a little sorry. (I'm more sorry that I'm not done writing this yet what du heck.)

The nausea was all Malroth could focus on as they landed, struggling to stay upright as his knees threatened to buckle. _All this recent warping is gonna ruin me,_ he thought, willing his stomach to settle. He felt Crea's hand on his shoulder, pushing and guiding him to sit on the stone steps up to the builder's bell. He groaned, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah, we've been doing this warping thing a lot lately, haven't we?" Crea sighed. "You really have gotten sensitive to it."

It had been fine before, when they had started their journey. He never remembered anything bothering him when they'd been traipsing around all the islands, at least. But then when it was all over and they had opted to walk almost everywhere on the Isle in their downtime instead, they fell out of the habit and his sensitivities had rapidly gotten worse.

"We've gotta take a break," Malroth wheezed. "Every time I feel a little closer to throwing up."

Her face fell, eyebrows turning upward in concern as she reached to brush at the hair around his forehead. "You look feverish too," she said. "Are you sure you're not coming down with anything?"

He shrugged, shivering at her touch. "I'll be fine, just give me a minute."

"Crea, you're back!"

She turned, seeing Saffron running towards them with her dress flapping behind her. "Hey, Saffron."

She slowed, looking excited about something but it turned to concern when she saw Malroth's paled face, panting and leaning against Crea for support. "Oh dear. Is something the matter?"

Crea smiled sadly. "We're not really sure. Sensitive to warping, we think? But I dunno. He seems feverish to me."

"Well sure," Saffron scoffed. "You probably haven't been giving him anything to ground him."

"Ground him?" Crea repeated. "What do you mean?"

Saffron put her hands on her hips. "Grounding! People aren't normally meant to go zipping around all over like that. When you get somewhere, you've gotta orient your body to your new location. It's like treating motion sickness, but for magic." She shrugged. "There are lots of things you can do for it, but I like eating something light, like toast with an egg or sliced tomatoes. It feels counterintuitive to eat when you're nauseous, but you've gotta do something to flush the magic from your system."

"Goddess, I miss pineapple," Crea said randomly. "That used to help me when I'd get seasick as a kid."

"I'll be fine," Malroth grumbled, leaning forward. He paused before he stood, looking up at Crea. "M-Maybe just a nap. I can go sleep while you teach them about the new crops."

"New crops?" Saffron exclaimed. "Which means more recipes?"

Crea exhaled. "Y'know, I didn't make a big spit for mixing things until Moonbrooke. I've got a lot of recipes to catch you up on."

Saffron's eyes sparkled with excitement. 

"On that note," Malroth sighed, shakily standing to his feet. "I'm going to rest. You have fun with your plants and stuff."

"Take this before you go," Crea said, retrieving a perfectly fresh piece of toast from her bag. 

"If I'm trying to get magic out of my system, shouldn't I _not_ eat the magically preserved food?" he asked, smirking. Crea rolled her eyes, insistently pressing it towards him. He smiled, shrugging as he took it and walked off, munching as he shuffled back to their little house. 

Crea turned back to Saffron. "We think planting more crops will make the Deitree better," she explained simply. "Is anybody the head farmer? I want to draw up some plans. And talk irrigation."

Saffron motioned for her to follow. "I don't know that we have a hierarchy like that," she said. "But everyone likes and respects Ashby. They would probably listen to him if you wanted to get things organized. Maybe. I think you met him before?"

Crea nodded. "Yeah. He was good with getting people going yesterday. Not so much with conflict management."

Saffron smiled apologetically. "Yeah… but, this will be for farming. They'll be a lot more comfortable with that!"

"Hopefully," Crea sighed, watching a group of farmers run by for lunch. 

"He'll probably still be working in the field about now," Saffron said, abruptly turning to follow the group to the kitchen. "He's usually one of the last ones to come in for lunch." She waved, running off and disappearing inside.

Turning sharply herself in the other direction, Crea wandered into the fields. She was careful to step between the rows of brown wheat, not yet golden, and peered over the tops of the tomato poles, heavy green fruit hanging from many of the plants. They would be able to harvest them soon, once they turned a juicy red. And hopefully before the birds ate them. She had to peer awkwardly at many farmers as she wandered through the sprawling pumpkin patch, straw hats obscuring faces. When she approached the pool for the sugar cane, she knew it was Ashby by the way he pointed around, two other farmers listening intently to his instructions. Crea grinned, jumping into the shallow water and gently wading out to them. The other two farmers scurried off by the time she got there, and Ashby turned, mouth widening into a smile as he saw her.

"Miss Crea!" he said. "A delight to see you!"

"Thanks, you too," she said with a smile. "I was told I should talk to you about organizing some things around here."

A blush was visible on his cheeks even with his dark skin, the brim of his hat lowering to hide some of his bashfulness. "Ah, somebody's been talking big on my behalf. I'm just a farmer, plain as anyone."

"A farmer that everyone will listen to, I'm told," she said. "Which is why I need your help with some new plots."

His eyes lit up. "Gladly! Expanding the existing ones, perhaps?" 

She shook her head, starting to walk with him back to dry land. "We found new crops that we wanted to introduce to Furrowfield. We think it might help the Deitree. But there are ten kinds… so we need to plan it all out carefully."

Ashby nodded sagely. "Mustn't run the crops too far from town."

"Exactly." She stepped up out of the shallow water, brushing mud from her knees. "I also think it's high time we invest in irrigation too. Save you guys some time from having to water all day."

"Well," he said, pointing to some benches by the spring, "I suppose we better start drawing up some ideas."

So they did, sitting and sketching in Crea's book, discussing the many pros and cons of several different irrigation systems. Diagrams and layouts were drawn haphazardly, both of the plots and the farm as a whole, trying to decide where best to put each kind, as well as how to renovate each existing plot. It was finally decided in the late afternoon they would make one large canal running between all the fields, with intermittent sluice gates to let smaller amounts of water run between the rows. In the meantime the other plots would be assembled downstream of the canal, combining the two necessities into one massive project. By the time all that was decided, it was thankfully time to return for dinner.

"I appreciate your help," Crea smiled, rolling her stiff shoulders as they walked through the fields. "It was really clever to put the new fields downstream. I think that'll be easy to incorporate."

Ashby tipped his head forward, hiding behind the brim of his hat. "You're very kind, miss Crea. It seemed like a logical conclusion to me. Truthfully, I'm mighty excited for these new crops! This _heatroot_ you mentioned sounds fascinating."

"Oh, that reminds me!" she said, turning to riffle through her bag. She pulled out several bags of seeds, pausing for a moment before she remembered to pull out a basket for them as well, filing it with the rest. "You should take these now before I forget. I think we're heading back up to the other town tomorrow."

"Excellent!" he said, taking them with a sparkle in his eyes. "And all nicely labeled too. Thank you! We will get to work tomorrow!"

Crea squinted as she stepped inside of the light of the diner, adjusting from the darkness outside. It was easy to pick out Malroth's mane of dark hair against all the straw hats in the room, and she smiled as she went for him. 

"You lived," she remarked, sitting down across from him. 

Malroth looked at her inquisitively. "Was I not supposed to?"

"It was a joke," she said, propping her head on her hand. "You eat already?"

He nodded, holding up the last quarter of a piece of bread. "About done. Can I get you some? You look exhausted."

She nodded back. "Honestly I might take it back to the house. I didn't realize how tired I was until you pointed it out."

Malroth stood hastily. "Then I'll grab some fast. You go back, I'll be right behind you."

Nodding again, Crea stood, shuffling to the door. She yawned as she exited into the open air, looking around tiredly at the few stars that were coming out before plodding slowly back to the house. Fast footfalls caught her attention as she reached the door, and she turned and smiled as Malroth approached, bowl and bread in his hands.

"Sorry," he murmured. "They thought I was going back for a second helping. Had to convince them it was for you."

"With excessive force?" she joked.

"I was careful!" he defended, following her inside. "It was only some minor threats…"

She laughed softly, setting herself heavily in a chair at the table. Malroth placed the bowl in front of her, bread on top, and started rubbing her shoulders. Crea hummed gratefully as she ate slowly, eyes drooping. He was grateful when she managed to finish, stifling his own yawn.

"Alright," he murmured, patting her shoulders. "Let's get you to bed."

She nodded, pulling off her pouch and book from her back, dropping them on the table as she likewise shed her clothing on her way to bed. Malroth followed, draping his jacket over the corner post of the bed before crawling in after her. Crea pressed her back to his torso with contented sounds, pulling his arm over her side to rest his hand on her belly. Smiling, he slid his other arm under her neck, pressing his nose against the back of her shoulder. She was asleep instantly, leaving him to ponder for several seconds. Eventually he sighed, whispered _I love you_ into her skin, and fell asleep. 

* * *

Faint scritching caught his attention, causing Malroth to wake halfway. He blinked, eyelids heavy, drawn to the faint candlelight at the table against the darkness that remained in the window. 

"Crea," he groaned, voice croaky and full of sleep.

"I know," she called, not looking up from writing in her book. "I got an idea in a dream. I wanted to write it down before I forget."

"Cre-uh," he complained, slurring. "'S the middle 'f th' night."

"I know," she repeated, finally looking up to look at his face. Her eyes looked much better. "Just sleep, my love. I'll come back soon."

He groaned again, falling down to his pillow and falling back asleep just as quickly.

* * *

It was a pleasant stirring when Malroth woke next, lazily drifting into consciousness against a backdrop of birdsong. He laid still for a long moment, eyes closed and motionless, enjoying the quiet. Eventually he grumbled contentedly, bringing his arms up to stretch. 

_Wait._

Eyes snapping open, he flung his arm back across the bed. 

_Empty._

_Cold._

Bolting upright, his eyes landed on the table, seeing that her book was gone, but her bag was still there. Her locket was next to it too, like she'd forgotten to put it back on. He leapt out of bed, his fingers touching the chair and the blackened end of the candle.

_Empty._

_Cold._

Trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, he gasped as he burst outside, his bare torso shivering slightly at the brisk morning. His eyes swept the place, darting over to linger on her workbench.

_Empty._

_Cold…_

He ran. He couldn't help it. Malroth slid into the kitchen, but it was early enough that no one was in it except Saffron. She yelped at the sight of him, hand over her heart in alarm.

"Where's Crea?" he demanded, breathing heavily. 

"Why would I know?" she complained. "All I know is I heard you _stampeding_ towards the kitchen and—"

"Crea!" he roared, spinning in the doorway to yell over the fields. When silence met him he clenched the doorframe tightly, growling softly.

"Malroth?" Saffron asked quietly.

Malroth glanced at her over his shoulder, and she couldn't help but think his red eyes were glowing.

"I think Crea's missing."


	10. The Tomato Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth looks for Crea.

Saffron stared wordlessly at him for several seconds, processing, before shaking her head out of her stun. "Missing?" she squeaked.

Malroth nodded, staring intently at her.

She sputtered. "Can you smell humans as well as monsters? You always knew when they were on the move."

He nodded curtly.

"What do I smell like…" she wondered aloud. 

He simply glared, unmoving.

She shook her head again, clearing the thought from her mind. "Did she say she had anywhere she needed to be?"

"Several places," he said, clipped.

"Have you tried walking in those directions? Maybe you'll smell her in the right direction."

"I thought of that," he said, his impassive stare almost goring a hole into her. "But she can warp, dumbass. And she prefers it. I can't pick up a trail from that."

"Wha—!" Saffron stomped, then threw her hands in the air. "Then maybe go _check_ those places, I don't know! It doesn't take _that_ long to get anywhere on this island."

Malroth observed her for a moment before leaving; shallow divots in the wooden doorframe from where he squeezed them were the only indication he'd even been there. He returned to the house in silence, collecting his jacket as he pondered where to go first. If she wanted to be away from people, he thought it unlikely she would go to the settlement by herself. Otherwise she had the mill she wanted to brush up, as well as something for the tomato orc…? He didn't remember exactly. And it seemed odd she would go back to Al's on her own. Malroth crinkled his nose as he stepped outside, trying to hone in on her scent. The windmill and the orc were his best bets, he decided. And the windmill was closer. 

Setting off to the east, Malroth kept his eyes firmly ahead, sweeping the landscape for movement. In general it was just dracky and slugs, making him grimace at their smell, even though they kept a fair distance. The wind changed direction and he got a strong, unexpected, and unmistakable whiff of Crea, making him snap his head to the south. The looming cliff face made him pause, but he also knew he couldn't deny what he smelled. Hurriedly he followed it, noting with relief that it was relatively recent. 

After going through the hidden tunnel and emerging in the bog, he was horrified at the smell, making him grumble as he skittered around the pools of muddy water. The mud squelched beneath his feet uncomfortably, and he hugged the eastern wall as best he could until making it to the bridge. Malroth paused on solid ground, hands on his knees as he caught his breath from trying to hold it through the horrible smell. Thankfully, Crea's scent was still strong here, though masked in mud. He looked up, gaining his bearings. The tomato orc wasn't far from here, he realized. If she wasn't there, then maybe the orc would've at least seen something. 

When he arrived, it was all too obvious that she _had_ been there, but it was less clear if she was still nearby. The house at the tomato orc's back was complete on three sides, but left a large entrance on the last side for the large beast. Another building nearby was complete too, walls filled in in a similar fashion. Malroth took a deep breath, approaching the orc. He noticed the tiny tomato garden had been minorly upgraded too.

"Hey," Malroth called from a ways back, hoping not to spook him. The orc turned its head, regarding him for a moment with an impassive glance. "I'm looking for a builder," he added, drawing closer. "Crea. You taught us about tomatoes a long time ago."

The orc scoffed. "I know her," he snorted. 

"Have you seen her recently?"

"Seen her?" The orc huffed rapidly, and Malroth realized he was laughing. "Recently? Of course I've seen her. She's in my bed."

"She—!" Malroth turned, head turning between each of the two buildings, before throwing a pitiful glance at the orc. 

The beast jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "This one," he said, sounding bored. In his eyes, though, he was at least mildly entertained. Malroth nodded his thanks, then rushed inside. 

The relief from the sun was immediate, making Malroth have to blink for several seconds to see in the shade. A large stone oven covered the back wall, and a Rat seemed to stand guard in front of it, staring intently at the low flames. In the corner was a massive bed of straw, and he managed to see her hair along the top, draping over the side. He approached slowly, coming to see her curled up in a ball around her book, clutched tightly to her chest, sleeping soundly. She looked so comfortable he knew he couldn't wake her, but instead exhaled in relief. She was safe, at least. Though what she was doing here, he didn't know. 

"She's a bit odd, _squeak?"_

Malroth turned his head to the Rat, who was staring calmly back at him. "What do you mean?"

"Odd," the Rat repeated. "Just walked up and started fixing and building things. _Squeak._ Eyes weren't open half the time, and even when they were she looked dead. And then when she was done, she curled up there in Mr. Orc's bed." The Rat shrugged, staring to clean its face with its paws. "I'm not complaining, mind you. Nice house. But she wouldn't say a word. _Squeak."_

Malroth frowned. _Out of her mind? Maybe possessed?_ He didn't like that idea. Even Hargon had never gone to such lengths, other than influencing the things that he said in the much later stages. It was one thing to keep his mouth shut more often, but to keep her from wandering away in the night? He chewed his lip with worry. He'd need to be more insistent about her in bed with him. Hopefully feel whenever she got up…

Without more time to worry himself silly, Malroth climbed into the straw, mindful of the Rat's eyes on his back. He settled in around her back, gently lifting her head so he could slide his arm underneath as a better pillow. She sighed as he moved her slightly, nestling back against his torso. Wrapping his arm across her waist and belly, he exhaled. At least whatever entity that had her before was mindful enough to put her to bed and let her go. Still, his mind was reeling with worry. He would have to be more diligent.

It was some time that passed, Crea dozing quietly as Malroth watched over her, occasionally glancing around at their surroundings. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts to rest with her, but kept himself quiet and still. Eventually she stirred some hours later, grumbling as she rubbed her eyes. Locked down by his arm, she lifted his wrist gingerly, turning her head around when he didn't resist her.

"Malroth?" Crea asked quietly, drowsily, her eyes slowly focusing. "Where are we?"

He swallowed harshly. "Tomato orc farm."

"We are?" She blinked slowly, looking around to gain her bearings. "Well, how'd we end up here? And who fixed all this?"

"You did. This morning." He sighed at her confused expression. "I'm not sure how _you_ got here, though. I walked here after you were missing from bed when I woke up."

She nodded slowly, furrowing her eyebrows. 

"Though," Malroth added lowly, "I would really like to know how you got here."

Crea paused, hand still around his elevated wrist, before finally sighing, rotating her body to face him and letting his hand fall back to her waist. He thought she looked small. 

"Did anyone see?" she whispered. 

"Other than the Rat and the orc? No. I don't think so."

"Are you scared?"

The question caught him off guard. He wanted to say _yes,_ tell her how scared he was of where else she might go without him, tell her he was worried the voice in her mind had possessed her, and if that was the case, how the voice in her was more powerful than Hargon. But more than that he wanted to be strong for her. If she was afraid, he couldn't be.

"A little," he lied. "Mostly confused. I was more scared when I hadn't found you yet."

She didn't look convinced, but didn't comment. Instead, Crea sighed, putting her hands on his chest under his jacket, and smiled looking defeated. "Do you know what sleepwalking is?"

Malroth frowned. "No…"

Her eyes fell. "It's… a thing I used to do as a kid. They told me I'd grow out of it." She laughed softly. "Guess I didn't."

"But what _is_ it?" 

"Just like it sounds. You walk in your sleep." She shrugged halfheartedly. "And apparently I sleepbuild, too. Must've really been concerned about it to have subconsciously come all the way out here to do it."

He exhaled slowly. "So you weren't possessed?" he asked quietly. 

Her eyes snapped back up to him, searching his face as she realized his fear. "No," she said quietly. "I… oh. Is that why you were hugging me so tight?"

He shrugged apologetically. 

"Thank you," Crea whispered, pressing her hand to his cheek as their foreheads touched together. "I'm sorry. That can't have been easy."

Malroth let some of his tension fall away with her touch, exhaling carefully. "At least I found you."

She hummed. "You always do."

"Toooooooommmmm!"

A fearsome roar echoed around them, making Crea freeze and Malroth bolt upright to glance around wildly. Initially he didn't notice anything until he looked at the orc, realizing his tense posture and his spear angled out in front of him. Malroth grimaced, shifting slowly to climb out of the straw bed. 

"Will you fight?" Crea whispered. 

"I always fight," he replied, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the agitated orc. The beast was likewise transfixed on the small opening to the forest nearby, snorting and digging its feet against the ground. Malroth stayed low, darting to the doorway and crouching, keeping himself hidden just in case. He assumed whatever it was had come for the orc, not them. 

"Tom!" A low, furious voice yelled out. "What have you done!"

Malroth peeked around the corner, recognizing the big blue self-proclaimed orc king from a different part of the island. Why it was here now, he didn't know. 

The other orc, apparently Tom, huffed, pawing the earth with his foot. "Nothing. I did nothing!"

"You have a house!" the blue orc roared, stomping closer. He was at least two feet taller than Tom. "That's not nothing! This is an insult to orc-kind!"

"I didn't build it!" Tom insisted. "The humans did. I wasn't going to refuse them."

"Humans!" The blue orc snorted, shaking his head back and forth like he was sneezing. Malroth decided he'd call him Blue. "What humans would build for an orc?"

Malroth stood, brandishing his hammer across his shoulder and striding into the sunlight. "Me," he declared, drawing the attention of the king. Malroth refused to back down from the scrutinizing gaze that met him, and the brute laughed after a brief moment. 

"You?" he chortled. "A scrawny thing? No chance."

"He helped us before, with seeds!" Malroth said. "We wanted to repay him."

"With a house?" Blue roared again. "Absolutely not! Orcs will not suffer this… this… indignity! We live and die on the land!"

"A house doesn't change that!" Malroth yelled.

"It must be destroyed!" The king snorted once more, no longer listening. 

Exhaling sharply in frustration, Malroth rolled his eyes and gripped his hammer tightly, bringing it down from his shoulder. He leaned forward and prepared to run, grimacing. 

_So much for diplomacy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news, bad news, and more good news!
> 
> the good news is, I figured out how I want to have my satisfying end! the way I outlined it before was just too abrupt and I didn't like it, but I fixed it, so future me already pulled through and helped me figure it out :D
> 
> the bad news is my husband lost his job again because of covid things :( and it's really hard to write angsty Moonbrooke stuff when my life is just a big ball of stress and uncertainty. so... writing has been difficult.
> 
> the GOOD news (for you) is that I'm currently still stuck in chapter 35, so even if I continue to post twice a month for the foreseeable future (which I plan on doing), that still gives me enough content for a year. which I'm pretty sure we'll have found a job by then and I'll be back on my angst train :3 I only feel bad cos I was supposed to hurry and finish and then do the daily thing, LMAO. oops. 
> 
> anyway, there's that. hope y'all are faring better than having to job hunt! (and if you are job hunting these days, I'm sorry. best of luck and I love you.)


	11. The Orc King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth fights the Orc King.

Blue threw his head back in a roar, his tusks becoming more apparent in the sun. Malroth froze as Tom moved his whole body in between the king and the house, brandishing his spear forward at Blue.

"The human builder is in there!" Tom growled. "She has always been kind to us. Destroy it if you must, but not while she is here!"

Blue laughed, swinging his spear. "Then she'll pay too!"

Malroth gripped his hammer tighter. "Not while I'm here," he snarled. Obeying the instinct to run, he surged forward, hammer at the ready between his hands. He saw Tom take a measured step back, one he recognized as a reluctance to fight. He was honestly glad for it. It would've been harder to fight with an unfamiliar partner, especially one of his size. 

Blue's eyes glinted, readying his spear as Malroth got closer. With careful force he swung the spear, aiming as if he could hit Malroth's head off with it. Instead, Malroth tucked his body, sliding feet-first underneath the weapon in a spray of mud, feeling the wooden shaft graze the top of his hair. He came to a quick stop in the sticky earth, rising with difficulty and disgust. Upon missing, Blue spun too far with his momentum, exposing his back. Malroth grit his teeth, clenching his hammer with a mud soaked glove, and swung with his might at the king's rear.

Blue howled, stumbling forward as he reached back with a paw to cover the tender wound. Spinning back around he glared at his opponent, growling. Malroth snarled back, aggressively bearing his own blunt teeth. 

"You're nothing but a pup," the king laughed, though with a glimmer of gleeful murder in his eyes. "No fangs, no tusks, no claws, no horns. How do you expect to best me?"

"I'll figure that out later," Malroth replied. "But I still won't need any of those things to beat you!"

Without waiting for a response, he ran forward again. Blue growled, thrusting his spear in several short jabs. Dodging to the side, Malroth felt his jacket snag, hearing it rip. Growling himself, he kept running, swinging into the predictable block and scoring a hit against his huge blue paw. He fell back as the orc king shrieked in pain, shaking his hand in the air. In the brief moment of distraction, Malroth darted forward again, towards and around him, slowing to smash at the orc's knee. His hammer bounced back without damage, much to his surprise, and in his own temporary confusion failed to see the spear swing into his side. He felt the shaft crunch against his ribs, sliding along the pole as it pushed into him until it sent him flying. 

Bouncing in the mud before coming to a stop, Malroth rose to his hands and knees, smearing mud from his cheek with the back of his glove. The king barked a laugh, planting his spearhead in the ground as he watched him rise to his feet. Malroth grit his teeth as he twisted to reach for his side, wincing in pain at his own touch, checking his hand for blood. Not seeing any, he returned his gaze to his opponent, gripping his hammer again. After panting a few seconds, he produced a maniacal half-smile, which made Blue hastily retrieve his spear and brandish it forward again. 

"That should've dissuaded you!" the orc king shouted. 

"Oh no, you mean encourage," Malroth said, grinning crazily. "I haven't had a good fight in a while."

"Strange human," he grumbled angrily.

Malroth's smile widened. "You don't know the half of it."

After pausing to take a deep breath, Malroth moved forward again, breaking into a mad dash. Blue took his spear in both hands, spreading it across his body in a preemptive block. Gripping his hammer tightly, Malroth yelled as he swung towards the thick shaft of the spear, aiming to the middle for the cleanest hit. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt something suddenly _wrong_ with his hands, and he saw his grip slip as he brought his hammer down. It bounced uselessly against the wood, and Blue laughed loudly before pressing the spear forward across Malroth's chest to send him stumbling back, falling in the mud. Malroth grunted in disgust, raising his hand and shaking it to fling the grime from his glove. _Damn slippery mud._ Growling, he smeared his glove against his pants, trying to dry it.

"Pitiful weak human!" Blue huffed, doing his strange orc laughter and pawing his foot on the ground. "I'll show you how to really fight!"

Malroth hastily stood, recognizing the orc's movements. Blue brandished his spear out in front of him a second later, growling as he started to run forward at a breakneck speed, aiming the giant spearhead at Malroth's chest. Quickly calculating, Malroth ran forward too, holding his hammer out in front of him. They met in the middle where Malroth expertly batted the spearhead aside, making Blue's eyes go wide in surprise. Malroth ducked before Blue could stop to do anything else, sliding between the massive orc's legs and swinging his hammer with extra gusto against the creature's rear.

Howling angrily, Blue suddenly turned without stopping to soothe his new wounds, lunging with his spear without seeing. Malroth hopped back with a gasp, trying his best to avoid the sporadic and reckless jabs. One wrong hit and he'd be done for. Blue was undeterred at Malroth's agility, continuing to stab at empty air where he had been standing seconds before. There was only so long before something had to break though, and with the mud building up on his clothes and slowing him down, Malroth almost knew it was sure to be him. 

True enough, with an angry glint of murder in the orc king's eyes, Blue feinted to catch him off guard. Malroth yelled in painful surprise as the spear made contact with his side, the jagged edge slicing his skin. He stumbled backwards, keeping an eye on the big orc with his hand on his side. While trying to get some extra distance between them, Blue gave a triumphant roar, angling his spear again. 

"Pathetic!" he cried. "No human can best me!"

Malroth felt a nearby presence of something large behind him, but he had no time to properly look as Blue roared, suddenly charging towards him. It was then that the presence _moved,_ and Malroth hurried to scramble out of its way, realizing a second later that Tom was closer than he anticipated. And, to his further surprise, jumping in the way of the blow, his spear spread horizontally in front of him. 

"Not by the house!" Tom snorted loudly. Blue kept obliviously charging, not noticing Tom's defensive stance until he was being pushed back, spear being shoved across his chest. Blue stumbled away and Malroth saw another chance, surging forward after him without hesitation. The king was relatively quick to recover though, and swung his spear wildly. Seeing his moment, Malroth jumped, grabbing the shaft as it swung past, tucking his feet and clinging tightly to the pole. Howling in displeasure, Blue swung his spear wildly, trying to shake off its human occupant. Side to side, up and down, in circles, Malroth hung on with his phenomenal strength, keeping his gaze locked on the orc for his window. When there was enough of a pause he sprung forward, level with Blue's head, and swung his hammer with all of his might against the creature's massive snout.

Howling in pain, the orc king squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his spear, falling down to sit and hold his face with both hands. Malroth jogged over to the massive weapon, picking it up and smashing it, breaking the pole into several smaller pieces. Satisfied it was sufficiently broken, he strode to the hunched orc king, stopping just far enough to angle his hammer right up against Blue's face. 

"Impossible," Blue grumbled. "No human can best me!"

Malroth scoffed. "Well, you better rewrite that part of the story because I just did."

Blue squinted back at him, tears of pain lingering at the corners of his eyes, breathing labored. "Just who _are_ you?"

A wide smile spread across his face. "I am Malroth Darkhammer, lord of destruction and protector of the builder." His smile changed into a sneer. "You got a problem with that?"

Blue groaned, squeezing his eyes back shut.

Tom trundled up behind Malroth. "You've been bested," he remarked to Blue, huffing. "Now you must defer to him."

"Filthy human…"

Tom snorted. "Our culture demands you listen to him now. Unless you'd rather fight him again."

Malroth clenched his jaw. The sore ache in his side complained at the thought, but he kept his face still. 

Instead, Blue whined, clutching at his nose. 

Tom sighed in relief, then turned to Malroth. "And your orders?"

Malroth blinked, looking up at Tom for a moment before turning back to Blue. "You leave Tom and his stuff alone. Including his house. Leave all the humans alone too. I'm leaving Tom in charge while I'm away so if I hear you're not listening to him, I'll come back and beat you up myself."

Both orcs were startled at his words, but nodded silently. Malroth turned away, hiding a faint limp as he went back inside the open house. 

"Crea?" he called, nearing the bed. "You okay?" Peering in over the side of the straw, he saw he curled up in a ball, clutching her head with her eyes squeezed shut. Hesitating for a moment, he removed his glove, reaching to touch her with his relatively cleaner fingers. "Crea?" he asked again, fingertips brushing against her wrist. 

She yelped, jumping a little as her head snapped up, eyes wide until she saw the sunlight and instead squinted. "Malroth?" she questioned. 

His heart sank. Had she forgotten where she was again? 

Crea took a measured breath. "Are you okay?" Her voice sounded small and afraid. "You look pretty beat up."

He looked down. Splotches and large splatters of mud caked his pants, jacket, gloves, and boots. Lifting the torn left corner of his jacket, he observed his blood mixed with mud along his side. It wasn't a deep gash, that much he knew, but it certainly looked bad. He looked back to Crea with a tired smile. "I'll be fine once I can clean up."

"What happened?" she asked, climbing out of her burrowed spot.

"You didn't watch?" He tried to hide his disappointment. 

Crea shook her head, brushing straw from her dress. It haphazardly clung to her hair, making her look even sillier. "Soon as you left I got a major headache. I couldn't focus."

Malroth nodded, still trying not to let it bother him. "I'm basically Orc King now."

"Without being an orc?"

He shrugged. "I beat him in combat so he has to listen to me now. I don't pretend I understand any of it."

She nodded, steadying herself in her feet. "You can tell me about it on the way. I want to walk back," she said, plodding slowly to the front of the house. "I'm sorry I missed it."

Malroth sighed, following along behind her. _Me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #teamTom
> 
> Tell you what, Malroth becoming Orc King was not a twist I expected when I started writing this. XD


	12. The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth gets patched up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: nudity, though there's nothing sexual. (just informing just in case!)

The bog was its usual level of warmth for the early afternoon, sun beating on their backs as they walked and talked back towards the town. Malroth could feel the mud on his hair, clothes, and skin as it dried out, leaving a thick crunchy layer of the stuff. He grumbled as it started pulling at his open wound, trying to forget it was there. It was a dull ache, truthfully, and he thought the half-dried mud was protective enough to keep him from bleeding out. Crea turned at a loud grumble of complaint, eyebrows scrunched together in concern.

"Are you really okay?"

"I've had worse," Malroth said, "you know that."

"Yeah…" Her eyes flitted uncomfortably to the wound. "Just… That's the same spot Zeligon almost killed you."

Malroth grinned, putting a hand on his other hip. "Then I'll be fine. I already died once from a big gash in that side, so it can't kill me again, right?" His teasing smile faded when her expression didn't change. "Honestly though, where am I supposed to clean it around here?" he asked, gesturing to the muddy water around them. "I can't risk making it worse if I let it be until we get home."

"I wish I had my pot," Crea mumbled. "Maybe we  _ should  _ have warped…"

"Thanks no," he said hurriedly, starting to walk into the tunnel in the rock. "We're practically there anyway."

She gave a sharp intake of breath, which made him pause again and turn around.

"What?" he asked.

"I just remembered…" She met his eyes apologetically. "We never finished making the bathroom."

Malroth let his shoulders slump. He'd forgotten that, too.

"Don't worry!" Crea said, coming to his side. She tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew it was forced. "I'll do it. You know how quick I can build. And bathrooms are pretty easy."

He sighed, but adopted a half-smile to encourage her as they began to walk again. "I suppose it would be less difficult than the interior design choices that hung you up in the bedroom."

She scoffed, her smile and demeanor becoming more genuine. "Not with that attitude."

The sun was somehow kinder on the other side of the rocky outcrop, opening up and immediately smelling much nicer than the bog. Malroth could only smell the mud on his clothes even stronger against the clean air, souring his mood even further. But the walk back to town was as smooth as always.

"Just let me handle this," Crea said as they approached their little house, deliberately taking his hammer from his back. He nodded, sighing as he slumped against the wall, sinking to sit on the ground. Exhaustion caught up with him, the ache in his side becoming even more irritable when he moved and breathed. Malroth grimaced, shutting his eyes. He was honestly glad he wasn't helping to build at the moment. 

Crea was true to her word, knocking out part of the sidewall and hastily expanding it, placing an open shower, sink, and toilet within the expanded room. Just as quickly she added a few smaller things: towel rack, rug, mirror. The whole process was quick as far as building went, but her beaming smile evaporated when she came back to Malroth, observing his pained expression. She chewed her lip with worry.

"C'mon, bumpkin," she said, brushing his loose hair from his face. "I'm finished. Let's get you cleaned up and see how bad that gash is."

Malroth nodded, grimacing further as he tried to stand. Crea grabbed under his arm, helping to pull him up and steady him. She got mud on herself too as he leaned against her, but she didn't mind that now. His shallow and agitated breathing had her attention more. 

"Shoes off," she urged at the door. Cautiously he did so, grabbing the door frame for added balance as he kicked them off. They stumbled inside together, Crea leading him to the open doorway of the bathroom. "Just in here," she soothed. "Almost there. C'mon, let's get you out of these clothes so we can clean you up."

Malroth squinted an eye open at her as she rubbed past his shoulder, helping his jacket off one arm. "You just want to see me naked," he croaked.

"Malroth," she scolded, pulling his jacket from his other arm. "You're hurt and covered in mud. Firstly, I can't patch you up like this. Secondly, I know you hate being dirty. So focus, would you?"

He nodded, laughing slightly before grunting in pain. 

"Must have broken some ribs," she commented, stripping the rest of his clothes from his legs. He shivered, stepping out of them. Crea was back up instantly, pushing his shoulders towards the open shower. "Can you stand or would you rather sit?"

"Crea," he grumbled. "I can do—"

"You have always downplayed your injuries so don't even start that," she scolded him again. "So. Stand or sit?"

His legs wobbled as he stepped inside, halfway collapsing against the wall before managing to turn himself over, sinking the rest of the way down to the floor. He sighed. "Sit."

The water was already warm when she turned it on, a steady stream spraying his body. He shivered pleasantly, rubbing his hands across his chest and face, watching mud trail into the drain. Her hands were on his sides a moment later, delicately brushing mud from the gash. In the meantime, he decided to wipe the mud from his skin and try to rinse it from his hair. She was right– he hated being dirty.

"Goddess, what a bruise," Crea remarked several minutes later, faintly tracing her fingers over the discolored skin. "And it's probably not even fully formed yet. Was this when he smacked you sideways?"

Malroth nodded. "Fortunately the gash isn't on top of it."

"Yeah, lucky you. Even more of an area to hurt you back. Y'know, you're not gonna be able to sleep on this side for probably a week." Poking at the gash briefly, Crea immediately lifted her hand from his skin when he grumbled in pain. "This isn't going to be pleasant, but I need to scrub at it so I can get all the dirt out. The last thing I need is for you to get an infection."

He sighed, gripping his legs and bowing his head in preparation. "Go."

To Crea's surprise, he was completely silent as she brushed away the covering of dried mud and blood, dark flecks of both sweeping away with the water. The wound became lighter in color the more she brushed away, eventually leaving a healthy dark red where it had been a filthy brown before. She noticed a faint trail of blood along his skin, and she grimaced in sympathy. "Are you ready to get out?" she asked, looking up. "This is still bleeding so I'd like to get it covered asap."

Malroth exhaled heavily, as though he'd been holding his breath. "Yeah," he panted, raising his head. "Think I got most of it from my hair, too."

Turning off the water and positioning herself in front of him, Crea helped him stand with difficulty, his hands grasping against the wet patches of her dress to pull himself up. He stood long enough for her to wrap him in a large towel, then stumbled off together to bed. Malroth collapsed on it as soon as he reached it, and she leaned against the bed frame, pulling bandages from her bag. Removing the towel from his waist, she looked at the gash again, gingerly running her fingers around it. 

"How do you always do this," she wondered aloud, reverently looking at all the peeled layers of skin and muscle.

"What?" he asked. "Fight?"

"Get hurt." She smeared a protective ointment on top of it with her fingers, making him gasp. "And then act like nothing's wrong."

Malroth smirked, breathing heavily. "So lying naked on the bed and letting you patch me up is acting like nothing's wrong?"

Crea rolled her eyes, pressing slightly harder against the wound which made him yelp. "No, but walking three miles while still actively bleeding could count."

"Don't know if you've noticed," Malroth growled, "but up until about thirty minutes ago you've been acting like a zombie. Despite the fact that for the majority of the morning I thought you'd been kidnapped or possessed, and then when I managed to find you I had to fight off an orc king so he wouldn't smash the house while you were in it." He scoffed. "So forgive me that my sense of self-preservation is low when yours isn't much better."

Crea pursed her lips, wrapping the bandage against him tightly. He grimaced at it and she stood and turned away without a word, quickly heading for the front door. 

Malroth winced audibly as he sat up. "Crea—"

In a blur, she slipped, her firm footfalls landing in water and pushing her leg out from under her. She produced a loud, undignified squeal as she fell to the floor, sprawling onto her side. She lay still for a moment, panting. 

He sighed. "Crea, look at us. We're a complete mess. I can't protect you like this, and you can't go on like that. We need a break." She stayed unmoving on the floor for several more quiet seconds until he inhaled slowly. "I know you don't like to admit it, but you have limits too."

Her head raised from the ground, slowly maneuvering herself to sit up. She looked at him tearfully. "I know," she whispered. "It's just hard."

"I know," he echoed, motioning for her to come to him. "We need rest. I'm hurt and you're… sick. Let's just take one thing at a time."

Crea nodded, pulling herself up off the wet floor and shuffling to the other side of the bed. After peeling her wet dress from her skin she climbed into bed, pressing herself against his chest. She was mindful to keep her hands off his side, and heard his satisfied murmur as he wrapped an arm around her waist. 

"One day at a time," he mumbled, sleep pulling him away. She nodded, listening to the sweet sounds of his soft snores until she too had fallen asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost posted this yesterday for my birthday, but then I decided that might be _too_ comment hungry. 
> 
> it's the end of July! I hope it was a kind month to you.


	13. The Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they recover, survey the land, and get a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all got a better gender neutral term for "fangirl"? I came up with fan-children but that was about as good as I could do.

The rest of that day, as well as the next, were quiet and uneventful. Treeton had taken a shine to the new crops, enthusiastically cultivating according to Crea's instructions. The irrigation channel was completed too, allowing more freedom to the farmers to check on various things relating to the crops as well as free up some time for them to continue to build the expanded dormitory. They'd bother Crea on occasion asking about specifics for this and that, at least until one poor farmer managed to catch an earful from the terrifying, half-naked half-bruised Malroth yelling to _let us rest for the Goddess' sake,_ and then they managed to figure out the rest of it on their own. 

It wasn't until the end of the second day that anyone noticed any changes. The cleansing wind from the Deitree had picked up slightly, its branches and leaves swaying more freely. A faint flowery smell encompassed the area too, bringing a subconscious spring to the farmer's steps. And then they noticed how the crops had changed. Each plant had grown in size just a little, but the fruits and vegetables they harvested had significantly increased in size and quality. It was a miracle, they'd said. _All hail the builder!_ they'd said. _Children of Crea!_

Personally Crea thought it too much fanfare, and shied away from star-struck eyes. So when the messenger arrived from the settlement looking for them, she was relieved for an escape.

"Clayton was worried," explained the young farmer. "You left and it's been a few days since any of us had heard anything. He wanted to make sure nothing had happened to you or Malroth." They smiled apologetically. 

Crea smiled. "Yeah, I should've thought of that sooner. My bad."

Malroth leaned to his side, putting his hand on his hip. "Maybe with all the changes around here, something changed up there too."

"Hopefully," Crea shrugged. "Think there's enough daylight to make it back today?"

"Guess we'll find out," he said, breezing past the startled messenger. Crea followed, slipping her hand into his when she caught up. 

"How's your side?" she asked. "I've been too busy trying to avoid all the fan-children today to think about much else."

"How can a child be a fan? One of those is alive and the other's made of paper," Malroth mumbled. "And anyway, my side is fine. Probably won't be too many more days with this nonsense." He rubbed at the bandage around his middle for emphasis. 

Crea swatted his hand away. "Good. I was starting to wonder." She glanced over the fields as they walked past them, observing the new sprouts of potatoes and corn. "It's amazing how things have changed around here, huh? Since the last time."

Malroth nodded, turning his gaze out to the fields too. "They have and they haven't."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I mean, yeah the fields are bigger, and yeah we've had some strange things happen while we were here, but… the farmers are still farming and building. And we haven't changed that much, either."

"We've had a whole lot happen between now and the last time we were here," Crea laughed. "We learned to build a million things, the world almost ended, you had a curse forcibly removed by the freaking Goddess of the universe…"

"But I'm still me," Malroth countered, "and you're still you. Things _around_ us may have changed, but you still love to build and I'm still perfectly content to be at your side. Things that have always been."

"I hope that last part never changes," she smiled gently, taking her pendant nervously in her hand as she looked over at him. 

He grinned back at her. "Me too."

Crea's smile widened, and she turned her gaze forward as her cheeks began to blush. She pointed ahead suddenly. "Malroth, look!"

Following her aim, he saw vast fields of flowers ahead of them. He knew the flowers were new, as the Deitree had never spread those before, but he furrowed his brow all the same. "I'm guessing you're not pointing at the flowers."

"The grass line," she said reverently. "It goes all the way up to the tunnel."

His mouth fell open into an _oh._ "Do you think…?" He trailed off, unsure if it was a good idea to get their hopes up that it had maybe spread beyond, as well. 

"I hope so," she said, squeezing his arm and grinning widely. "C'mon! I'll race you!" She was off like a light, sprinting through the grass and flowers. Malroth paused to watch her go for a moment, revelling in her energy. And then he was off too, hot on her heels. He always won these things. 

And he did. When he caught her at the entrance of the tunnel, Crea squealed as he grabbed around her torso and spun her around. They both laughed together as he set her down, Crea turning and taking a moment to touch her forehead to his as they caught their breath. Malroth hummed as she stroked his cheek, hand on her waist, everything around them falling away as they simply enjoyed each other. 

Crea bashfully laughed when she came to herself, tucking hair behind her ears. "We should probably go in, huh?"

"Probably," he agreed. "Though I don't want to. I just want to stay right here and enjoy you."

"I'd imagine that might get uncomfortable before too long," she said, pulling on his hand. "Let's just see how things are. We can escape to Al's if things are stable, alright?"

He nodded, following her into the tunnel. When they stepped out the other end, they didn't even have a chance to look around before Clayton was upon them. 

"You're back!" he shouted, overjoyed. "Thank the Goddess, I was beginning to think something terrible had happened. What took you so long?"

Crea sighed. "Ach, the usual. Malroth got stabbed by an orc so we needed to take a few days to patch him up."

"Excuse you!" Malroth exclaimed in exaggerated indignation. "Were you not going to mention that I kept you from being squashed by the house the orc wanted to break? Give me _some_ credit."

"Yes, you're right," she said, nodding. "Well, suffice it to say, we had a couple things happen."

"Sounds like it," Clayton said. "Fortunately, we've been busy too! We finished the lodge–" he turned to point at it– "and the bedhouse too! And you'll never believe it, this morning we woke up to green grass! So all those fields Mister Malroth had me section off are getting plowed up right now." He beamed at them as he turned back around. "It's nice to work on a big building project again."

Crea giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's what I always say!"

"Pardon the intrusion…"

All three of them turned their attention to the tunnel behind them, the messenger farmer from earlier breathlessly running to join them. 

"Sorry," they panted, "but there was a little man on the dock causing a commotion that I had to check out. He was saying he had a letter for you. And that it was urgent."

Crea took the letter, flipping it over to see a hastily scribbled address. "Serge?" she mumbled, opening it with a furrow in her brow. Malroth peered over her shoulder to read.

_Crea, I hope this letter finds you well. I have been artfully patient these last months, knowing your time as a master builder is precious and probably difficult to schedule. However, there is a matter that has arisen here on Khrumbul-dun that necessitates your aid. All will be explained on arrival, but be prepared because everyone thinks we're being haunted by a really big ghost. Probably. Maybe.  
_ _Ever yours,  
_ _Serge_

"Ghosts?" Malroth intoned skeptically. "Just put up some light and they'll leave you alone."

"I'm hoping and sincerely guessing they already tried that," Crea said, stuffing the letter into her bag. "You remember almost all the miners have a fear of the dark, right?"

"It's still the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he complained, throwing his hands up. "They spend the majority of the day _underground,_ where it's _dark,_ and then they come up at night when it's _also dark._ What kind of operation are they running?"

She grinned. "One where you can wrestle them for fun, and beat them up for the sake of _training."_

Malroth pursed his lips, hands falling to rest on his hips. "You make a compelling argument."

"So you'll leave us now?" Clayton asked. Crea and Malroth both turned to him, largely forgetting he was there. 

"It sounds important," Crea said apologetically. "But you guys seem to have a handle on things here, now that you've got enough clean soil to plant stuff."

Clayton nodded, smile returning. "We'll take care of it! Don't worry!" He waved them off, watching them leave through the mountain tunnel. 

Crea sighed when they reached the top of the tunnel, looking up at the clear morning sky. "Think we'll have to come back here soon?" she wondered aloud. "I feel like everything we did here was haphazard and not very focused."

Malroth shrugged, taking her hand and squeezing it. "You did the tough love thing you wanted though. Besides, they're building now, right?"

Crea nodded, looking towards the ocean as they walked. "I suppose so. Still, I—" Her head jolted to the side suddenly, yelling in wordless alarm, letting go of him to forcefully press her own hands onto the sides of her head. Malroth rushed to hold her, steadying her shoulders to keep her from falling over. Her eyes were shut tightly, hands trembling, her head shaking back and forth as she silently mouthed _no._ Malroth searched her face closely, heart breaking as he listened to her scared, shuddering breaths. 

"Crea?" he breathed. "What did he say?"

"Everyone builds and becomes a builder because of me," she whispered. "As… as it _ought_ to be. That they're right to follow me."

"The fuck is wrong with this guy?" Malroth murmured, setting his lips against her forehead and pulling her into a hug. "Don't worry, I've got you."

"That I deserve to be praised," she added.

He frowned. "I mean, I don't disagree with that, but why is _he_ telling you that?"

She continued to shake her head. "I don't know that I want to ask."

"Wish there was an easy way to communicate with him," he sighed. "Or ask what he wants."

Crea flinched again. "He wants me," she said, fear rising in her voice. "He needs a builder."

"Why?"

"Ma—" She sobbed suddenly, terror rising as her knees threatened to buckle. "Malroth," she pleaded, voice raspy.

"Okay okay," he relented, crouching to sweep at her knees and tucked her trembling body against his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder and he sighed, starting to walk the rest of the way to the dock. "It's okay, you're okay, we're going to go to Khrumbul-dun and figure out a ghost thing. Okay?" She simply nodded, trembling and whimpering. Inwardly, he groaned. _But why does he want her?_ he wondered. _Why her?_

* * *

A laugh in the darkness, thin fingers clasped together with glee.

_I need her, dear Malroth, because only a builder can make what I need. I need a builder to recreate what has been lost. It is the only way._

He paused, eyes narrowing.

_I must replace what was lost. Yes. So give her up to me, Malroth… For her sake. For hers, yours, and mine._

_And the rest of the world, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that's... a thing. :3
> 
> in other news, the good news is I wrote up to chapter 40! the bad news is chapter 40 made me cry! and I'm the one that WROTE it! so uh... mentally prepare yourselves for that in advance. (it hurts!) you can never prepare too soon!
> 
> also it's at this point I should re-promise my happy ending. (I figured it out!)
> 
> hope things are going well for y'all, happy mid-month update for August 😘


	14. The Return to Khrumbul-dun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a minecart takes a detour.

The evening was crisp and dry over Khrumbul-dun, and Malroth could smell the cactus and sands long before he saw it. He glanced over at Crea, curled up next to him and leaning on his shoulder, sound asleep. Brownbeard had been rightfully alarmed to see Crea reduced to a blubbering mess such as she was, but Malroth had done his best to convince him calmly that it would be fine, that the rocking of the boat on the sea would calm her. Brownbeard was skeptical but obeyed, in no small part of his eternal intimidation of Malroth. Not that Malroth minded. Anything to get on with it. At least he'd been right, he thought. The gentle rocking and sound of the sea had calmed her enough to rest, dozing and halfway waking every few hours for the whole trip. 

Malroth blew air from between his lips. He wouldn't admit how much it worried him, seeing her reduced like this. For as calm as she looked when she was asleep, he knew more was lurking beneath. But it was all he could do to follow her, encourage her to fight back, and hope for the best. And he hated feeling so powerless. 

As though on cue, Crea stirred, sleepy noises slipping from her mouth as she rubbed her eyes. Malroth froze, waiting to see if she would actually wake this time. After wordlessly grumbling for a moment more, she eventually released a large exhale, falling back to his shoulder. "Malroth," she mumbled. 

"Yes?"

"When did we get on Brownbeard's boat?"

"I carried you to it," he said. "You… were tired."

"Don't lie to me, please," she countered, her voice void of emotion. She simply sounded tired. "I remember what happened."

"Can't blame me for trying," he muttered.

"No," she sighed, "I suppose not."

"We should be there soon," he said instead. "I can smell the cactus."

"Can you smell my bed?"

"What?"

"My bed," she repeated. 

Malroth looked down in confusion, watching her serious expression as she rested on his shoulder with her eyes closed. _Probably so exhausted that she makes no sense…_ "No," he said finally. 

"Oh," she said, eyebrows creasing slightly. "That's a shame."

"Land ahoy!" 

Malroth looked back up to the horizon at Brownbeard's call, seeing Khrumbul-dun starting to appear over the water. "Not long now," he murmured, squeezing her hand. He wondered if the little house they'd made for themselves had been preserved, with the workbench and the beds and the things they'd left behind. Of course, they'd have to make one big bed for themselves now. They hadn't started sharing a bed together until after they'd returned from Malhalla, having always been too busy and oblivious before that to even think about it. But with Crea in this state, well… he'd probably have to make it himself.

The boat slowed to a stop next to the dock, the waves gently lapping against the sides. Malroth carefully pushed Crea to sit upright, allowing himself to stand and stretch for a moment. He knew Crea was asleep again, and for as fitfully as she slept throughout the day, he didn't want to wake her now. Carefully pressing his arms under her knees and her shoulders, he lifted her, carrying her from the boat. 

As soon as his feet hit the sand, Malroth looked around. The whole front area had been renovated nicely, the previous hole that once captured them having finally been filled in. A set of mine tracks ran over where it had been, and Malroth followed them back with his eyes before landing on a large minecart sitting on the track. Steps sinking into sand, he carefully trudged over. He grinned as he saw the carts had small doors on them now, grateful for the uptick in sophistication as well as the convenience. 

"Alright, Crea," he said, nudging the cart door open and maneuvering inside. "We're just gonna take a little ride into town, okay? Nice and easy. Then we'll sleep and see how things are tomorrow." Gently setting her in the corner of the cart, she curled up once his arms left her, pulling her knees to her chest and incoherently mumbling. Satisfied, Malroth closed the door and turned away, operating the cart so that it slowly teetered forward.

With a soft breeze on his face and in his hair, he took the chance to look up at the towering scaffolding over them, as well as the massive cliff faces as the minecart snaked through the canyon. Of the neighboring islands he thought this one his favorite, with plenty of tunnels to explore, monsters to fight, and all the shenanigans that came with frequenting the bars in the evenings. Malroth grinned, almost smelling the digger's jiggers in the air. He was looking forward to that. 

Rolling around the corner, he was met with the flickering lights of the town. From what he could see, the tracks ended right next to the others that went down into the tunnels. He turned to look at Crea over his shoulder, still sleeping peacefully against the side of the cart. "Almost there," he said to her. "We'll have you in a comfy bed soon."

The cart lurched to the side suddenly, making Malroth stumble and grip the side of the cart in alarm. He forced his head up, seeing a previously hidden set of tracks, shooting the cart in the direction of the silver bar for a short ways before heading off into the rock face to the west of it. A small tunnel devoured them, and in the dim light he barely had time to see the impending drop.

Angling down, his hair whipped at his face and squinted, air rushing past him and making his ears ring. Torches were few and far between, burning his eyes as they passed. The track leveled without warning and then turned abruptly, and the change in momentum almost made his knees buckle. When Malroth looked up next, he felt the hair on his neck stand on end.

Along the rocky wall was a jagged shadow, horribly black against the surroundings. A sharp, metallic smell inundated his nose, making him gag and press a hand against his nostrils. An intimidating sound of screeching metal was all he could hear as he shot past it, sounding to him like a stone whetting an axe. He felt his eyes bulge with confused alarm.

_The ghost?_

The cart veered again, throwing him to the side once more as it followed the track. This time his knees didn't keep him upright, and the force of motion kept him kneeling as the track angled back up, made a few turns, and spat them back out into the cool air of the town. Malroth heard the wheels squeal in protest as the track hugged them, slowing the cart to a crawl before eventually stopping peacefully next to the other minecarts.

Shakily standing, Malroth panted as he looked out over the town again, heart beating painfully in his chest. It was all he could do to stare for a moment, gaze nervously flitting about, slowly calming enough to hear the plunky piano playing from inside the bar. He tried to focus on it to ground himself, but his mind kept recalling and focusing on the strange shape, smell, and sound of the thing as he'd gone past it. 

He shook his head. _There's no way that was a ghost,_ he thought. _That was definitely real._

Crea groaned behind him, shaking him from his daze. He turned to see her rubbing her head, eyes clenched shut in discomfort. 

"Why do I feel like I'm concussed," she grumbled. 

"Crea," Malroth said, kneeling in front of her. "I took the minecart to town but I took an accidental detour into the mine."

"Smooth," she complained sarcastically. "Oh wait, no it wasn't."

"I saw the thing Serge wrote to you about," he insisted, ignoring her protests. "There's a new tunnel they dug, I guess. I saw the ghost when we went through just now."

She paused, squinting at him to observe his reaction. "What did it look like?"

"There was a really gross metal smell, and it sounded like a rock scraping across an axe, like a whetstone maybe. And there was a big black shadow that—"

"But what did it _look_ like?" she asked. 

Malroth hesitated, stopping to observe her, his eyebrows gently pressing together. "I didn't _see_ it, but I know it was there."

"Then how do you know it was that?" She started rubbing her head again, looking unimpressed. "Maybe there's a new metal down there that smells gross, and you've always had a super specific sense of smell so maybe it smells worse to you. Or maybe it was a residue smell from the monsters that were there before. What if the metal sound was the wheels scraping on the track? Or the shadows were just because it was dark and the torches were placed next to something weird?"

His eyebrows sunk together further. "It was a monster, Crea, I'm sure of it," he insisted flatly. 

Crea sighed, pushing herself from the floor to stand. "We shouldn't draw conclusions from one encounter. If it was even that." 

She exited the cart, strolling towards the town. Malroth kept staring after her, standing to watch her go, though he made no move to follow her yet. He exhaled sharply in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I _know_ what I saw," he murmured, returning his gaze to her retreating back. After a moment he sighed, leaving the minecart to walk after her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀 hmmmm....
> 
> ps: good news! (relative on your definition of good!) I only have two chapters left for Moonbrooke and then I get to the big bad stuff! I don't know how many chapters that still be but I hope I'm closing in on the boss fight. (gosh, finally. I wanna punch Chatty's lights out.) and then I'll post faster :D yay!


	15. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea has a dream, and Malroth gets bitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow descent into angst-land begins for real now. you've been warned and I'm not sorry. (ok maybe a little sorry)
> 
> also, Chatty McAwful gets a name! yay?

The inside of their little workshop was just how they'd left it: forge and workbench along the back wall, kitchenette on the left, two beds end to end along the wall to the right. Crea sighed when she saw them, stopping in the middle of the room to stare at them. 

"I can make a bed to share," Malroth said from behind her. She turned to look at him, and he couldn't help but notice the faint circles under her eyes. 

"Can we just push them together for now?" she asked timidly. "I… I'm afraid it would take… too long, otherwise." She blushed, averting her eyes and fidgeting with her necklace.

He nodded trying to ignore the complaint, and moved past her to wrap his fingers carefully around the wooden frame of one of the beds. With ease he lifted it from the floor, shuffled back a few feet, and dropped it down near the other with a grunt. Malroth pushed it the last few inches into place, then leaned his hammer against the wall next to the headboard before crawling onto the makeshift double bed, setting his back to the wall and looking at her expectantly. Crea looked up when the noise had stopped and he lifted his arm, inviting her into his embrace. Dropping her bag and her hammer onto the floor near his, she hesitated when she touched the end of the bed.

"What?" he asked. 

"Sorry," she murmured. 

"For what?"

"For saying you would take too long."

Malroth pressed his lips together. "You're tired," he said tersely. "We'll fix it tomorrow."

Crea stayed frozen at the bedside, staring blankly at the sheets. 

"What?" he said again. 

She blinked, shaking her head before meeting his eyes. "Sorry," she repeated, climbing in next to him. "My head feels strange."

He wrapped his arms around her as she settled in, brushing hair from her face before she nestled against his neck. Malroth sighed, hearing her fall asleep almost instantly as her body went slightly limp. "Just rest," he whispered, staring over her head at the door. He hoped he'd be able to get any sleep too. 

* * *

There was a strange feeling in Crea's chest that stirred her from sleep. It wasn't a bad feeling, she decided... Just strange. She paused for a moment on her pillow, eyes closed, trying to place it, but it was the most neutral thing she'd felt in a long time, not even knowing how to describe it with words. Strangely disoriented, she opened her eyes.

Everything was white, pleasant to look at, and somehow warm, even just by looking at it. Sitting up, Crea realized she was sitting in some ethereal bedroom, complete with glitzy furniture of an unfamiliar design. She took time to stare at everything, trying to drink in the peculiarities of the designs and construction. 

But then the door opened.

The man that entered walked with such grace she thought he might be royalty. He wore a long white suit with gold trimmings, hands clasped gracefully behind his back. His face was long and pale, and he looked incredibly confident between two long sets of bangs that framed his face and brushed against his collarbones. As a stark contrast to the rest of the room, his hair was thick and dark as well as long. Crea almost expected to find a pocket watch and a cane nearby. His eyes were vibrant but colorless, stealing attention from his flattened nose. In all, he was entirely unsettling. 

"Hello at last," he greeted warmly, stopping several feet from the bed. 

Instantly she recognized his voice, hair bristling in the back of her neck. "You," she whispered.

He smiled with lips together, expression not changing for a moment.

"You're the one in my head," she said lowly.

"The very same," he said.

"Why?" she demanded.

His smile grew, teeth peeking through his slender lips. "I am in need of a builder."

She uttered a frustrated groan. "Then tell me where you are so I can come and make your damn thing and be rid of you."

"Rid of me?" He put a hand on his chest, aghast. "Heaven no, child. I am no villain. And, as you are, you couldn't yet create what I need."

Crea pursed her lips, staring at him intently.

"And you will not be able to for some time, Creatrix," he added, putting his hand back down behind his back.

Her jaw clenched. "That's not my name. I'm just Crea."

"Ah, yes, of course. Apologies."

They were both unmoving for several moments, staring at each other. He was perfectly still, smiling as always. It was unsettling to her.

And yet...

"What do you mean I can't build what you need yet?" she asked quietly, still regarding him with a wary eye. She couldn't help but feel some interest.

He grinned. "Your reputation precedes you. A thirst for knowledge, alive and well. Still, I feel it best if I simply teach you instead. I don't want to risk losing my contract with the best builder in the world if she were to be overwhelmed or think I'm a lunatic for what I propose."

"You know that sounds ultra sketchy," she warned, clenching her fists on the side of the bed.

"Naturally," he agreed. "Which is why I'd like to discuss the interest of a down payment, so to speak."

Crea couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Payment for something I haven't agreed to?"

"Crea," he drawled. "I'm here to teach. And as an act of good faith, I would hope to share some building advice with you."

"Advice?" she intoned skeptically.

"What are all blueprints and building recipes but advice?" he asked, gesturing to nothing. "Crea. Please believe me when I say that when you eventually can make what I envision, it will empower your building like never before."

"So why won't you tell me what it is?" she demanded. "And what will you get out of it? I hardly believe in the altruism of paranormal beings."

"Oh, trust me, I'll get what I need, don't you fret about that. But first I must train you, teach you the building blocks of what will eventually become reality." He smiled wider. "And if you don't mind, I would like to show you now, Crea..."

The room around them began to dim, and she felt a familiar pull from behind her eyes that told her she was waking from dreams. She looked up at him suddenly. "Wait!" she called. "I want your name."

The room kept fading, his smile glinting even through the darkness. Then his lips parted and he spoke again, mouth still painfully wide.

"Ketriel."

* * *

Malroth heard the door close and was alert instantly. Instinct flung his arm across the bed, finding it warm but empty. _Recently_ emptied. He got up and rushed for the door. On sticking his head outside, he saw Crea sitting on a blanket near the wall. He exhaled in quick relief. Despite leaving only seconds before, she was already scribbling in her book, some sketches of various things already filling the page. He frowned.

"Crea, what are you doing? You've been exhausted all day, you can't do this now."

"I didn't want to bother you with the light," she admitted, not stopping to look up. "I'll be just a minute."

Malroth leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms skeptically across his bare chest. Several minutes ticked by, interspersed with the occasional exchange of him calling her name, and her assuring it would be just a moment more. He even got bored enough to remove the bandage from around his torso. When twenty minutes had passed, he rolled his eyes.

"Alright missy," he said, exaggeratingly rolling up sleeves he wasn't wearing. "You need your rest, it's been long enough—"

"No!" Crea exclaimed, writing faster. "I'm really almost done!"

"You can finish tomorrow," Malroth said, crouching down. He placed his hand on her book in her lap, obscuring her text with a knowing look, then turned his head away as he looked to place his other hand on her lower back. "Right now you need to—"

An excruciating pain exploded on his arm, making him yell and fall backwards, landing in the sand as he hastily cradled his injured arm. He inspected it closely, finding a ring of teeth marks blooming angrily on his skin. Malroth looked up at her in shock. "You bit me?"

She was likewise staring back at him with wide eyes, annoyance fading away as confusion enveloped her features, her hand hovering by her mouth in alarm. "Malroth," she stammered, whispering after a shocked second. "I... I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean—!"

"Fine, stay up all night!" he snapped, standing and turning on his heel. "But you better not complain about how tired you are tomorrow!"

He slammed the front door shut, making Crea flinch. Confused swirled in her mind as she looked down at her hand. All she could think of was how irrationally angry she'd gotten, annoyed that he'd covered her work, that he'd tried to stop her from writing. But he'd gently encouraged her back to bed plenty of times before this, and never before had she felt so… _infuriated_ by it.

She took a deep breath, pressing the tips of her fingers against her lips as she remembered the feeling of his skin sinking under her teeth. "Why did I do that?" she whispered.


	16. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth meets with Serge.

Sleep was impossible. Malroth tossed and turned, curled up next to the wall with his bitten arm held close across his chest, trying to turn away from the empty bed next to him but unable to do anything but stare at the empty room. Crea stayed outside, inspiration evaporated but her shame prevented her from going inside. She instead curled up by the door with her blanket over her. Eventually the cold desert air became too much to bear, and she finally relented to go inside several hours later, shivering violently. Malroth heard her come in but pretended to be asleep, eyes shut and listening closely. She hesitated to see his motionless form next to the wall, but she climbed onto the edge of the bed as far as she could from him, faced away and buried under her blanket from outside. 

He peeked an eye open to see her, perched as far as possible from him, shivering from the night's chill and hearing her loud chattering teeth. Guilt and discomfort bloomed painfully in his chest– he knew she needed him, now more than ever. Taking a silent breath, Malroth reached out, pressing a hand firmly against her side. She flinched and then froze, her clattering sounds stopping as she waited to see what he would do. Sighing sadly, he reached forward to her stomach, pulling on her side to invite her to him. Crea was still for several more seconds, processing, and then finally scooted her body back, still not brave enough to face him. He wrapped his arm fully across her torso, letting her siphon his heat as she pressed her back against his chest. Shutting his eyes, he listened to her, relieved to hear her chattering slowly reduce in volume and intensity. 

He felt her finger tracing the angry ring on his arm a little while later, and he frowned. 

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. It was obvious she thought he was asleep. "I don't know what came over me… though I don't know that you'll believe that…"

Malroth felt his heart sink– he knew that feeling all too well. The fear, the regret, the shame, all of it piling up to make isolation appealing. He steeled himself. "Crea," he said, firmly but with as much gentleness he could muster. 

She jumped, immediately going still, her finger frozen on his arm as she listened. He felt her panicked goosebumps forming under his arm.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, not sure where to start for what he wanted to say. "Don't give up on yourself," he murmured. "Don't give up on me…"

Her breath hitched in her throat, trying to speak, but the words refused to form.

"He will try to isolate you," he explained quietly. "Make you think leaving will be better. Safer. But he's wrong."

"Ketriel."

"What?"

Crea sighed. "His name is Ketriel." 

"How…" Malroth grabbed her hand that hovered above his bite mark, holding it tightly. "How do you know?"

She shrugged half-heartedly, as though admitting defeat or getting caught. "He came to me in a dream."

"What else did he say?"

"He needs me to build something," she said quietly. "But that I don't know how to build it right now and it'll be a while."

Malroth frowned. "That sounds bad."  _ Worse than mine, _ he thought, biting his tongue.

She deflated further. "He wanted to give me recipes as a pre-payment…"

He hugged her tightly from behind. "And you accepted."

She hesitated, shivering. "I guess I did…"

At once he sat up, climbing over her to be able to look her in the eyes. He hugged her from the front now, and she looked at him for a moment before looking away in shame. "Hey," he said, nudging her face with his nose. "Crea. Look at me. You're fine. You kept your promise to tell me what happened. Right? We're gonna be okay."

"This is bad," she mumbled, eyes still downcast. "I can't stay away from building things… but if I don't, he'll keep giving me ideas until I have no choice but to repay him with whatever it is that he wants… and he won't even  _ tell _ me what he wants…"

Malroth pressed his forehead to hers, trying to catch her eyes but she closed them instead. "Rest with me," he pleaded. "You're tired, you're not thinking straight. We'll put our heads together in the morning and figure out what to do. Okay?"

She nodded, sighing sadly, breath shaking. Malroth pulled her closer once more, letting her curl up against his warm torso, feeling her uneven breaths on his skin. He sighed, holding her tightly. 

_ Rubiss… Help us. _

* * *

A quick knock on the door made Malroth jump awake the next morning, looking back over his shoulder at the door. He eyed it for a moment before another knock sounded, and he felt Crea stir next to him. 

"Go get it," she mumbled, planting her face into her pillow. He did as he was bid, rolling off the bed and tugging his jacket back on as he walked to the door.

When he pulled it open, Malroth was surprised to see Serge, and his brain immediately short circuited right after.

"Malroth!"

"What the hell are you wearing?" he demanded, gesturing to the bunny suit. He'd only ever seen girls wear those before. 

Serge rolled his eyes, leaning to the side and putting a hand on his hip. "Oh please, you've seen these before. I dance now."

Malroth stared with wide-eyed horror. "Did someone put you up to this? Do I need to beat someone up to repay a debt or what?"

"Goodness no!" Serge exclaimed, lightly slapping his own forehead. "I  _ like _ doing it, okay? Good benefits."

Malroth stared in silence at that. 

"Listen," he said, "that's not what I'm here for. Some miners said they saw you come into town last night so I wanted to get you up to speed with what's been going on. Is Crea up too?"

He glanced sideways at the bed, seeing her still motionless on the bed. "I doubt it," he mumbled. "She's not been feeling well for a few days, so I'd rather let her sleep if it's all the same to you."

Serge nodded. "Understandable. The miners have cleared out after the breakfast rush, so meet me at the copper bar in a minute and I'll get you some breakfast while I tell you about…" He gestured vaguely. "Here, I suppose."

Malroth nodded, shutting the door after Serge turned away. Approaching the bed again, he sat down and rubbed at Crea's shoulder. 

"I heard," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"You want to sleep?"

She nodded.

Malroth sighed lightly, turning away to stand. 

"Wait."

At her voice, he looked back, seeing her pointing off the end of the bed.

"Take my book," she said quietly. 

"What?" he exclaimed, glancing nervously between her and the backpack. "Why? That's yours. The last time I even  _ looked _ at it you got mad at me, never mind the time I  _ opened _ it."

"Take it with you," she insisted, her voice sounding more and more exhausted by the moment. 

"But why?"

Crea paused, her eyes looking extra dark and heavy. "I don't want to take chances without you here."

At once he understood, feeling foolish. Wordlessly he bent down, taking the bag in his hand and slinging it carefully over his shoulder. Malroth looked back at her, sadly looking at her limp and pale form. She hadn't looked this frail since returning from Skelkatraz. 

_ No, _ he realized.  _ She didn't look even half this bad after Skelkatraz.  _

"You should probably lock me in, too," she said, eyes barely opening. "Don't want me wandering away again."

"You're not an animal," he growled. "Or a prisoner. I won't do that."

"Malroth…"

_ "No." _

Crea sighed, reaching up to grab his hand. "I'll be asleep, love. And there's a bathroom in here. If I absolutely have to get out I'll break a window. Just please. For  _ my  _ peace of mind. Please."

Malroth took his hand back from hers, instead leaning down to put it against her neck and set his forehead to hers. She put her hand over his wrist, eyes closing again. 

"I don't like it," he mumbled. 

"I know."

"But you're asking me to."

"I am."

He smoothed her jawbone with his thumb. "I won't leave you long."

She patted his hand gently. "With any luck I'll be asleep, so I won't mind even if you do."

Malroth leaned forward, lightly pressing his lips to hers, feeling relieved when he felt her relax a little. Pulling away, she smiled up at him. 

"Rest now," he whispered, pulling his hand from her skin. Crea nodded, sinking into her pillow once more as he turned and went outside. 

After installing a simple chain lock on the outside of the door, Malroth made for the copper bar, nervously adjusting Crea's book on his back. He remembered now why she never let him carry anything– he was far too restless. The town was eerily silent as he walked into the bar, a far cry from the liveliness that infected the place the previous evening. Going inside, he spotted Serge at the counter, clearly waiting for him. 

"Oh good!" Serge said, motioning to the plate. "Breakfast is ready."

Malroth sat down after dropping the bag on the stool next to him, then started to eat his toast as he eyed him. "So what's the fuss about?"

Serge smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We found a new tunnel."

"The one that stupidly connects to the minetrack from the dock?" Malroth grumbled. "I know that one. Went down it last night by accident."

"You went  _ in _ there?" Serge exclaimed, startled. "Already?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Did you see anything in there?" he asked quietly. 

Malroth gave him an even, transfixed look. "What about the tunnel, twinkletoes."

He shook his head, trying to focus. "The miners are… superstitious, as you may remember. We discovered this tunnel a few weeks ago, and for a little while everything was fine as we got ready to explore it, but…" He shrugged. "Then people started acting strange."

"You mean like, sick?" Malroth said. "From something in there?"

"We don't know," Serge admitted sheepishly. "Most of the handful of miners that went down there came back ill of some kind– headache, nausea, general discomfort. Only for a day or two, then they were back to normal. Could be mold, stale air, or maybe just a gas leak down there. But the extra superstitious ones… well, they have their own reasons."

Malroth raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. 

He sighed. "They think this is the tunnel spoken of in an old legend."

"Legend?"

"I only know it in passing so I'm not the best person to ask," he admitted. "But it speaks of a monster in a lair of diamonds, and anyone who disturbs it will be cursed."

"No doubt it doesn't tell you much about what the curse is or what it does," Malroth scoffed. 

Serge nodded. "Their conclusion is further supported by the hissing they hear down there when they get close. And the diamonds you can see in the walls when you cart through it. That part we've confirmed, at least; some miners brought back a few before the bad stuff started." He shrugged. "It's all a bit much for me, but I can see why they believe it."

Malroth hummed, shoveling eggs and toasted mushrooms into his mouth. "So what? You close up the tunnel and go back to life as normal. Big whoop."

"But then we'd have miners sneaking off all the time just to get _ in _ there. And then they'd go missing, and then we'd have even more of them getting sick and strange, and then, and then, and then…" Serge sighed. "These miners like to do things they're not supposed to. If we leave it open, there's less incentive. Nobody will go if everyone's keeping an eye on it for each other."

He eyed him carefully. "So because it's open, everyone avoids it?" he asked skeptically. 

Serge quirked a smile. "All except for three."

"Three miners?" Malroth asked, eyebrow raising. "That aren't afraid of getting sick? Or the dark? Or monsters? That's new."

Serge laughed, moving out from behind the counter, motioning for him to follow now that his plate was empty. "I think it'd be better if you just met them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, important update! I'm currently working on climax stuff! which means I will likely be done with my draft soon! GASP! there's a lot of errors though so I'll need some time to edit all of that out, considering the plot was more involved than the last one. so, tentatively and optimistically I am hoping to aim for daily updates starting in November! either the 1st or the 15th, we'll see how forgiving the mental health is between now and then <_<
> 
> anyhow, buckle up! I actually really loved how Khrumbul-dun turned out so I hope it delivers :3


	17. The Miners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth wrestles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the miner speak. XD

Malroth had forgotten just how bright the desert could be, squinting into the sun as they came outside. Of course, he'd also forgotten how many buildings they had made when they were here last, as well as several he didn't recognize. Serge took him to one across the way, behind the accumulation station. Serge stopped at the door and sighed a bit, pausing as he seemed to gather himself. Then, tentatively, he knocked. 

There was an immediate scuffle of movement inside, sounding like a desk had fallen over and shattered a glass. Malroth thought he heard a cat scream in alarm too, though he couldn't be sure. Serge winced as loud footfalls approached, the door flinging open when the sound stopped. 

"Wotcher, guv— 'old on, 'oo's this?"

It was the stereotypical miner, just the same as all the others Malroth had ever met– yellow helmet with horns, straps over bare chest, and loads of scars. Two other identical miners ambled up behind the first, and it was now that Malroth realized their helmets had different accent colors on some of their stripes under their horns.

Serge motioned to his side. "This is Malroth. He and the builder Crea were here before when the fiasco with Goldirox went down. I know you weren't here yet, so I'm here to introduce you."

"Get in!" The first, with a black stripe, pumped his fist in the air. "I remember hearin' abaht that."

"Where's the builder, then?" The second asked. He had a white stripe. 

"Ill," Serge said.

"From the mine?" the third miner shrieked. His stripe was blue.

Serge opened his mouth to contest, but then turned to Malroth expectantly. "You said she's been sick a few days now, right?"

He nodded. "We were on Furrowfield before this. Overworked herself, I think. She'll probably be fine in a few days." He shrugged.  _ Probably. _

"Oi, does this mean we'll get beds soon?" asked white stripe. 

"You have beds here!" Serge protested. "You took over the pump station to turn it into your… whatever you're calling it these days."

"It's still the pump station," piped blue stripe. "It's just fer pumpin' plans, not iron."

"But sumuv our mates don't 'ave beds!" insisted the black stripe, ignoring blue. 

Serge scowled. "They could have a bed if they didn't mind sleeping outside. We  _ have  _ beds, just not space."

"When we fixin' that?" White stripe cocked his head to the side. 

"When Crea's better, I imagine." Serge sighed, turning to Malroth. "I tell you, it's been a nightmare without you two. I don't know that I've had a rational conversation in months."

Malroth smirked. "Are you gonna introduce me or what?"

"Oh yes." Serge straightened, pointing between the three. "This is Boris, Pit, and Phil."

"Yo!" The black stripe– Boris– raised his arm in greeting. "Gotta admit, yer smaller than I expected. I've 'eard stories abaht yer wrestlin' though. Can't wait to take you on m'self!"

"Oh 'ang abaht, yer  _ that _ Malroff?" exclaimed the white stripe– Pit. "This scrawny bloke? Wiv the undefeated record?"

"'Ow many uvver folks named Malroff do you know?" Boris asked, shaking his head. "'E's the only one I've ever 'eard uv."

"I've 'eard uv a monster named Malroff," the blue stripe, Phil, chirped. He trembled slightly at the mention of a monster. "Never met 'em though."

"Yeah you have," Malroth grinned smugly, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. "He's me."

Phil's eyes went wide, seen even under his helmet. "Yer bleedin' mad!"

"In any case," Serge interrupted loudly. "These three are the only ones that managed to actually get anything out of that tunnel. If you're going to want to figure out what's going on down there, your best bet is to work with them."

"After we perfect our signature brew, that is!" Pit cheered. 

Serge's face paled. "You're  _ still _ working on that monstrosity?"

"Monstrosity?" Boris mimicked indignantly, crossing his arms. "Pff! S'only got sumuv the finest ingredients known t' miner-kind! Yer just jealous you didn't think uv it first."

"Have you got any?" Malroth asked. "Right now, I mean. I haven't had a good drink in a while."

"Not you too," Serge groaned. "It's not even noon!"

He waved his hand, dismissing him. "Relax, I know how this works. And Crea wouldn't let me into the house again if I came back drunk on our first day. I got this."

Serge looked skeptical, but the miners cheered.

"Time fer wrestlin'!" Boris yelled, stepping away from the door. Malroth shot a confident glance to Serge before following the miners in.

"You  _ are _ down fer wrestlin', right?" Phil asked, nervously rolling his shoulders. "If you don't wanna, that's fine an' all…"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I may be  _ small _ compared to you guys, but I make up for it." Malroth set the backpack neatly by the door, then cracked his neck as he turned, letting the door close behind him. He grinned broadly now, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders. "We're gonna duke it out, and then we're gonna talk. I've got questions."

Boris grinned. "One question per win?"

A fire lit in Malroth's eyes, and he threw his jacket to the backpack by the door. It made the miners hesitate for a second, unused to such an early display of confidence and ferocity.

Malroth smiled broadly. "You're  _ so _ going down."

* * *

_ Crea… _

_ Wake up, Crea. _

At her name, she opened her eyes. The bedroom was quiet and still, and she sighed, curling up tighter against herself. 

_ Crea. _

She knew it was Ketriel, but she didn't have the energy or mental fortitude to deal with it just yet. Sighing again, she stared mindlessly across the room, feeling numb. 

_ You can't ignore me forever.  _

"I can try," she murmured. 

_ That's a strange way to treat a guest.  _

She snorted. "You're not a guest, you're a pest."

_ And to top it off, your book walked away,  _ he added, ignoring her complaint. _ You didn't like my ideas that much? _

Crea sighed. "You influenced me to  _ bite Malroth, _ you twit. You think I'll do that again?"

_ Alright, I was overeager, I admit. Too much all at once. _ He paused.  _ It is regrettable he got in your way. _

Crea stared blankly into space. She didn't really want to talk, or get into a discussion about whatever  _ stupid Ketriel _ thought was best. Especially for as biased as she knew he was.

_ Think of how much you could've learned if he'd stayed in bed…  _

"And how disappointed he'd be," she murmured.

_ Disappointed?  _ Ketriel sounded legitimately confused at that.  _ Why? You're the most revolutionary builder in the world. Wouldn't it be of utmost importance for you to write down your ideas?  _

Crea scoffed.  _ "He _ is my utmost importance. He helps take care of me since I'm so—" She inhaled sharply, catching herself.  _ Scatterbrained,  _ she thought.  _ Shortsighted. Vulnerable. _

_ A manservant?  _ Ketriel questioned.

She glared darkly at the empty room. "Boyfriend."

_ Hmm. He protects you well, _ he observed.  _ And frankly, worries too much. _

Crea stared at the empty room again, the numb feeling returning. There wasn't much to say to that. 

_ I do not wish you harm, Crea. _

"Are you sure?" she snapped. "Cos having you in my head sure feels like an attack. Influencing me to lash out at someone I love feels like an attack. Not fucking telling me what the hell it is that you want feels like a trap. Are you really surprised?"

A pause.  _ I suppose not.  _

"Then go find somebody else to scam," she muttered, rolling over to curl up next to the wall. She wanted to feel angry, and she knew she did a little, but… it was like the feeling was too big for her right now. Too overwhelming to feel at all, truthfully. She sighed softly, crossing her arms loosely across her stomach. 

When it was clear Ketriel had given up for the time being, Crea pressed her finger against the iron wall, mindlessly tracing shapes from her mind's eye. Blocks and blueprints infiltrated her numbness, and she groaned, rolling onto her stomach and face down into her pillow. 

_ If I can't build, I don't think I can call myself a builder, _ she thought. _ And if I'm not a builder… how much left of me is there? _

* * *

Malroth brushed the sweat from his forehead, panting lightly. He stood triumphantly above all three of the miners, who in turn were gasping on the floor at his feet. He grinned, setting his hands on his hips and laughing between breaths. "You had enough yet?" he asked. "I could keep going."

"Cor blimey, Boss, I give," Boris wheezed. "The uvvers never made it sound  _ this _ bad!"

"Unbelievable," Phil muttered in agreement. 

"Keep goin'? Yer mad!" Pit exclaimed, coughing. "Y'just 'andled all free uv us at once!"

Malroth breathed a laugh. "So… we're done?"

"Yes!" all three shouted in unison. 

"Great," he said, striding to a nearby chair and plopping onto it. "Then you can tell me about the tunnel."

"Like wot, Boss?" Phil murmured, sitting up and rubbing his head. 

"What's in it," he asked with a frown, "and why's everybody wanna get in there?"

"Only been in a few times," Pit said, still sprawled on his back staring at the ceiling. "Although, t'be fair, we're some uv the only ones that made it in there before findin' out it's 'aunted."

"There's bleedin' diamonds!" Boris said excitedly, but his enthusiasm quickly evaporated. "An' a monster. Maybe more. It was hard t' tell."

"Managed t' dig a bit before it showed up," Pit waved his hand around as he spoke. "'Eard it growlin' so we turned tail an' ran. Didn't wanna take chances if we're 'onest, Boss."

Malroth hummed. "You think you'll try to go back in soon?"

Boris turned, gazing off at the kitchen thoughtfully. "Err, yeah, prob'ly. Fink we could 'ave everythin' we need by tomorrow, I fink."

"Good by me," Malroth said, standing and retrieving his jacket from the floor. "I'll be back in the morning then, so don't go off without me."

Phil scoffed. "Wiv today's beatdown, I don't like our chances in there wivout ya."

He shouldered Crea's backpack. "Rest up, lunkheads. Big day tomorrow."

All three of them groaned and Malroth left the house with a satisfied grin. It was about early afternoon now, and he sighed in the heat. He was thankful for whatever sorcery kept the buildings cool in the day and warm at night. Desert living was a tricky business. 

Approaching their house, he quietly released the lock, gingerly pressing the door open. Malroth was startled to find it dark, like the window had been removed. "Crea?" he blurted, surprised.

"Malroth," she murmured from the bed, her voice quiet. 

Mentally, he slapped his forehead, remembering she was probably sleeping before he'd come back. "Why's it so dark?" He pushed the door closed, blinking several times as his sight plunged into darkness. Vague shapes formed after a moment, and he looked to the beds pushed together in the corner, slowly shuffling towards them.

"It was bright," she complained, exhaustion evident in her voice. "I put a curtain up."

Malroth leaned over the bed once he reached it, dropping her backpack to the floor with one hand and feeling around with the other to find her. Crea took his hand from the dark and he climbed in, following her guidance until he was wrapped around her.

"Smart girl," he murmured, kissing her forehead. Her following silence was deafening. "What?"

"He spoke to me again," she muttered. 

He tensed. "What now?"

"He tried to talk to me about you," Crea sighed. "I don't think he understands us. He assumed you were my servant that should've stayed out of the way when I was writing last night."

Malroth resisted the urge to grumble. "And you?" he asked. "Do you think I should've let you?"

"No," she answered quickly. "You're my priority. I should've listened to you. Ketriel doesn't seem to understand that, either… He seems to think my building prowess is the most important thing about me."

He chewed his lip worriedly. What was he playing at? 

"I told him to fuck off, but… I'm so tired, Malroth. And scared. What am I supposed to do? Stop being a builder?"

He hugged her tightly, feeling her slight tremble. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I won't leave you, no matter what happens."

Crea relaxed a little at that. "What would I do without you?" she murmured.

"Be sad, probably." Malroth flinched a little at his own automatic response, but relaxed as she laughed softly.

"Yeah," she whispered, hugging him a little tighter. "Definitely sad."


	18. The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth goes into the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super cliffhanger incoming. thought I'd warn you since I've been going easy on those of late 🤭

It was easier to relax while wrapped in each other's arms. Crea had fallen back asleep quickly, reassured by his presence. Malroth had taken a little longer, pondering her words about Ketriel and his strange doings.  _ Why would he need to talk to her about me? _ he wondered.  _ To get me out of the way? _ It was the only conclusion he could think of. The thought strengthened his resolve, taking it to mean he was doing the right thing. Determined, he hugged Crea a little tighter before allowing himself to drift off.

The rest was well earned, and well accepted after the restlessness of the previous night. Malroth felt disoriented by the darkness when he woke, but the miniscule tricklings of light under the curtains informed him it was morning after all. He groaned, stretching. It had been some time since they'd slept for more than twelve hours like this.

Crea grumbled at his side, yawning softly. He froze a moment, wondering if she was actually waking up or just adjusting. She deliberately ran her hands across his torso, humming. "G'morning," she mumbled.

Smiling softly, he raised his hand to tuck her hair from her face, letting her nestle into the crook of his shoulder. "Good morning," he said. "Did you rest well?"

"Better than the last few days," she yawned. "I feel better overall, too. I… wish I could build. I'd probably be able to get things done today."

Malroth smoothed at her cheek with his thumb. "Don't push yourself," he said.

"I know," Crea pouted. "I just don't know what to do cooped up all day."

Pressing his cheek to her head, he hugged her softly. He didn't know either. "Are you hungry?" he asked instead. She nodded. 

Retrieving her bag from the floor, they dug out perfectly prepared toast, eggs, and fried tomatoes, all still warm like they'd just been flipped from the stovetop. It was silent between them for a bit while they ate, both famished.

"What will you do today?" Crea asked finally, thoughtfully crunching the end of her toast. 

"I was going to go down to the mine," he said, brushing crumbs from his front and trying to stay casual about what he could do while she could not. "Serge introduced me to some miners yesterday. Boris, Pit, and Phil. They're the ones who keep trying to get down there to dig out the diamonds."

"Ah, so we didn't clear out the stash down there," she smirked.

He shrugged. "Guess not. They don't often get very many because of the monster, though."

Crea rolled her eyes with a smile. "If it even exists."

"But I  _ smelled _ it. You know my nose doesn't lie."

She sighed. "Just wait to see until you get down there. Maybe the sulfur of the lava was close and screwing things up."

Malroth chewed his lip, frowning.

"Look," she said, reaching up to boop his nose playfully. "I'm not saying it  _ can't _ be a monster. I'm just saying maybe it  _ could  _ be something else. We can't rule anything out yet from one encounter."

It was his turn to sigh. "Alright," he relented. "Fine. When I go down today I'll look for more proof for you."

"Not just for me," she said. "I think it's important for everyone."

He nodded. "Right."

"Will you go soon?" Crea asked.

Malroth leaned his head back, getting a better view of her face. "Will you be okay?"

"I have to be, don't I?" She smiled sadly. "I don't have much else of a choice."

He kissed her forehead gently. "Do you want me to take your book again?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a frustrated sigh. "I'll be so bored without it, but I don't want this Ketriel guy thinking he can pull a fast one on me while you're out."

"It's up to you," he encouraged. "I just don't want to accidentally lose it while I'm underground. Maybe try today and if it gets too hard I'll take it with me tomorrow. Okay?"

Crea nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll try. If you come home and my book is under the bed, you'll know what happened."

"Sounds fair to me," Malroth said, sitting up. Her head fell back to her pillow, and he leaned down to kiss her before completely getting up off the bed.

"Be safe out there," she said, watching him get dressed.

He stopped at the door, pausing long enough to smile back at her. "You know I will," he said, giving her a reassuring look. "I always come back to you, don't I?" He smiled again as she nodded, opening the door and stepping out into the blinding sunlight.

After taking several seconds to let his eyes adjust, rapidly blinking in the shadow of the doorway, he set off through the sand towards the digger's house. The town was quiet again, which felt a little strange to him. There had always been something going on the last time they were here… or maybe it was just because Goldirox had always been hanging out by the accumulation station in the middle of town, waving to everything that moved. That had probably helped.

Approaching the house Malroth raised his arm, but the door flung wide open before he had a chance to knock.

"Boss!" Pit shouted excitedly, forcefully grabbing his raised arm and yanking him inside. "We're nearly ready!"

Pit let go of his arm just as quickly as he'd taken it, and Malroth drew it back to rub where he'd been grabbed. "What're we waiting on?"

"The brew," Phil said reverently, like it was sacred. Malroth rolled his eyes.

"You lot get drunk before you go in the tunnels?"

"No!" the two miners yelled in unison, horrified at the suggestion. 

"It's liquid courage, Boss!" Pit explained. "Jus' one glass before we go in there. 'Elps loosen us up before we mine like madmen all day."

"At least, that's the 'ope," Phil said nervously. "We're not usually in the new tunnel fer very long."

"So what's  _ in _ this fancy drink?" Malroth asked, honestly intrigued. 

Pit beamed. "Well, you remember them prickly pops we make sometimes? Y'start wiv one uv those, and then infuse it wiv uver stuff."

"Infuse it?" he echoed.

"It means you let other stuff float innit fer a while," Phil said. "Adds new flavors. Each keg usually lasts the free uv us about a week, so we tweak fings in between."

"So what's in this round?"

"Nuh-uh, that's secrets, Boss!" Pit grinned, wagging his finger. "Besides, it ain't been  _ perfected _ yet. Mebbe we'll tell ya when it's consistent."

"Wolf time!" Boris hollered, careening through the door with three huge mugs between his fists. "Oh, Boss, yer 'ere! Lemme grab ya mug real quick!" He pressed the glasses into Phil's hands before immediately disappearing back into the kitchen.

"So you're calling it a Wolf?" Malroth observed, raising his head trying to catch a view of the drink.

"Yep!" Pit answered cheerfully.

"Why?"

His expression became sheepish. "Err, it's got a bit uv a bite on the way in…"

"An' if y'drink too much, it bites ya on the way out too," Phil added, blushing.

Malroth nodded knowingly. "Now I know how you make it last so long… no reason to guzzle the stuff."

"'Ere y'go, Boss!"

Boris reappeared, shoving an equally large mug into Malroth's hands. The opaque pink liquid sloshed in the glass, making Malroth raise his eyebrow at it.

"I promise it's good," Boris said at his expression, taking his own mug back from Phil. He grinned coyly. "I took a sip already."

The other two miners shouted in protest as Malroth brought the mug to his nose, swirling it around to smell it. The cactus fruit was the predominant smell, mixed with an earthy scent, almost like soil. There was something bitter in it too, though he couldn't put his finger on what it came from. Looking up at the sudden silence, he saw all three of them draining their mugs with gusto, leaning their heads back to get every last drop.

"Try it!" Boris said, voice crackly from the rapid inhale of alcohol. 

Malroth glanced at all three of their expectant faces before cocking a grin and bringing the glass to his lips, raising it with the same gusto that he might've done to take a shot. He managed a few swallows before the flavor exploded in his mouth, catching him by surprise and making him quickly lower his mug, sputtering into it.

"The hell is in this?" he choked, hacking as his throat burned. "It tastes entirely like grass!"

"You gave 'im the flavor leaf!" Pit groaned, smacking his hand to his forehead. Phil grimaced, and Boris hastily reached to grab the glass, intently looking inside it. After a second, he jammed his finger inside, hooking onto what looked like a long blade of grass, and pulling it out.

"Sorry Boss," he muttered, trying to hand the mug back. "Should be better now."

Malroth eyed it with disgust, forcefully pushing the mug back to Boris's chest. "Maybe next time," he grumbled. "Your finger was just all over that."

"Oh yeah." Boris looked down at it, embarrassed. "I promise it's not usually like that, tastin' like grass an' all."

Malroth dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "It's whatever," he said, feeling a lightness in his mind already. "Are we gonna go or not?"

"Yeah!" Pit grinned, ushering the others towards the door. "We're ready, Boss!"

* * *

Crea felt her eyes droop as she doodled in her book, mindlessly sketching the town as she remembered it. There had been some buildings that had been repurposed, and some smaller spaces that had been renovated that she didn't think she was drawing right, but she needed to figure out where she could put a dorm. Or how to expand the original. The cramped space of this town was one of the more annoying things she remembered about being here the first time. 

She sighed, mindlessly tickling her face with the end of her pencil.  _ Where…?  _ She felt Ketriel's presence before he spoke this time. 

_ Have you considered building into the rock face? Above the copper building.  _

Crea slammed her book shut. "I can figure this out on my own!" she insisted. 

_ You've been staring at your diagram for a good while. I thought you might appreciate a suggestion. _

She scowled. "That would weaken the foundation for the gold bar. Unless your goal is to make things worse across the board."

_ It would weaken things only if you put it too close. If you put it further down in the middle it wouldn't cause problems.  _

Stubbornly, she stared at the wall. It was a valid point, but she was more concerned with what she would owe him for accepting his suggestion.

_ Just consider it, _ he urged.  _ And while we're at it, might I interest you in a recipe? It should help with— _

"Just go away!" she yelled. "Let me figure this out on my own!"

The silence was deafening, her frustration simmering as her mind turned over his suggestions. Of course he  _ had _ to offer the most practical solution. That left little room for practicality of her own. Crea frowned. Either she had to come up with some strange elaborate solution, or accept his ideas and work with them. Suppressing a grumble, she turned her book back open to her diagram.  _ More than one way to skin a cat,  _ she decided stubbornly.  _ Or rather, build a town. _

* * *

Malroth and the three miners took the short walk to the mine, taking the stairs up past the bell and following the mine track into the rock west of the silver bar. Malroth noticed the dull sheen on the silver as they went by it– no doubt one of the things they would need to rectify before they left. 

"So who laid the track down?" Malroth asked as they stepped over it. "From what I understand, not many others made it very far before getting weird."

"It was already 'ere," Phil said, nervously pressing his fingers together. "That's 'ow we found it to begin wiv."

"Yeah," Boris said from the front. "Some bloke saw some iron poles in the wall an' f ought t' dig 'em aht. We was all surprised when 'e dug aht an entire track into a big 'ole instead!"

Malroth frowned. "So were you three the first ones in?"

"Nah," Boris laughed. "Nearly, though. But we waited til the fuss died down a bit before we went back in a second time."

"And… you weren't bothered that you could get sick?"

"I  _ was," _ Phil mumbled. "But we've been down an 'andful uv times now. No sickness yet."

"We still ain't down there fer long though," Pit said. "I think that 'elps. We get an 'andful uv diamonds an' then the monster shows up."

"Every time?" Malroth wondered.

All three nodded.

"What's it look like?"

"Ehh…" Boris rubbed at the back of his neck. "You'll just 'ave to wait an' see. We get startled too fast t'be seein' it right. Almost like it's different fer all uv us!"

Malroth felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. Whether because of the monster, or the drink mixing with the sun, he wasn't entirely sure. 

The tunnel was cool as they descended, chilling the sweat that had formed on Malroth's neck. He shivered a little as they got a little further, rubbing his arms nervously. There was something  _ strange _ about this tunnel. He didn't quite know what. Maybe it was the anticipation, or the almost certainty that the monster would come. Or that the miners refused to even tell him what the thing  _ looked _ like. A strange smell drifted through as the air started to get warmer.

"Are we getting close to the lava?" Malroth wondered aloud.

Boris nodded. "Enough to find us some diamonds. They form under pressure an' all. It doesn't get too much 'otter than this."

They followed the turn in the track, and Malroth was instantly met with a faint shimmer in the low light of a far off torch.

"There they are!" Pit said, unsheathing a pickaxe from his back. He trotted forward before starting to chip away at the rock, enthusiastically swinging wide. The other two followed suit, picking up next to him. Malroth realized he could see holes in the wall where they had mined out before, giant gashes that looked like claw marks. 

He shook his head.  _ Definitely not claw marks, _ he thought.  _ Pickaxes are just like that.  _

Pulling his hammer from his shoulder, Malroth set to work on the opposite wall, chiseling huge chunks of rock away from the sturdy, glimmering lump in the wall. When enough had been knocked away, the diamond fell to the floor on its own. Malroth leaned down to pick it up, admiring the gentle gleam. 

As soon as he stood up, a sharp pain shot across his forehead, making him groan and take a staggered step. He pressed his free hand to the side of his temples, trying to alleviate the pressure. It wasn't unnoticed. 

"Boss!" Boris yelped. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Malroth grunted. "I think I just stood up too fa—"

A sharp smell immediately pierced his nose, cutting off his sentence and making him feel nauseous. His eyes widened, forcing himself to look up and around through the pained haze in his mind.  _ That smell. _ It had been the same as before when he'd come through the first time, pungent and metallic and strong enough to make his eyes water. In the present darkness he saw a shadow on the wall just as before, but this time he also saw something appear further down the tunnel. Something… toothy.

His blood froze as it somewhat materialized from the darkness, yellow eyes set deep in green scaly skin and giant teeth grinning horribly beneath giant horns. His own mouth instantly turned to ash as he realized what he was seeing, making his stomach seize painfully as he gasped in horror.

_ Monster Malroth. _

"You're supposed to be dead!" Malroth shrieked, stumbling backwards. His headache made him wobble. "How are you here??"

The monster hissed, slowly advancing with its cruel smile, unblinking as it set its sights on him. Malroth had never felt such insane fear grip at his heart before, making it simultaneously freeze and beat a million miles an hour. Gasping for breath, he turned and ran, diamond and hammer clenched tightly in his fists. He heard the miners scrambling to catch up with him, but his powerful strides left them behind as he turned the corner and sprinted back for the surface. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀!!!! 
> 
> in other news, I'm still editing Moonbrooke and I'm within 3 chapter of the end of the whole fic! :D pray that I can edit faster, I want to daily post so bad. lol. it's over 125k!! ~~_so much angst._~~
> 
> I really hate ending total chapters on a 9, I'm not sure why. so we'll see if I don't squeeze out another one or combine some in the end. :3


	19. The Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea helps Malroth navigate some difficult territory.

The tunnel felt so much longer on the way up than it had on the way down. Malroth surged up the steep incline, huge gasps fueling his burning legs. His mind was consumed with the need to get out, to get above ground. He needed air. He needed to warn people. He needed to fight, eventually, but he couldn't do it alone.

His mind latched onto a new thought with this assessment— he needed Crea.

Bursting into the fresh air from the tunnel, Malroth didn't even break his stride as he barreled through the town, sand kicking up in his wake. He hastily stopped at the door, fumbling with the doorknob and chain lock for several seconds before becoming frustrated, raising his hammer with a roar and shattering the door from its hinges. He heard Crea scream in alarm as the pieces clattered across the metal floor, and he climbed in over the fragments that remained, eyes wildly searching for her.

"Malroth, what—?!"

"We have to fight," he blurted out, throwing his hammer and the diamond aside somewhere, mind completely zeroed in on her on the bed. "Malroth is down there, the monster I mean, we  _ have to stop him!" _

Crea's eyes went wide, defensively putting her hand up to keep him from falling on her as he stumbled to the bedside. She pushed her book away from her elbow, scarcely hearing it hit the floor. "What?"

"Malroth!" he shouted, making her wince. "He's in the tunnel!"

She shook her head, eyes not leaving his face. "No, he's dead, that's not possib—"

"Stop doubting me!" he roared, clutching the bedsheets in tight fists. "I  _ saw _ him! He's back and he's going to come after us! Try to destroy everything again!"

Crea could hardly breathe. She had never seen him so aggressively adamant like this before.  _ Monster Malroth? Here? _ Surely he was jumping to conclusions, but even that was wildly unusual. Besides, even if the monster  _ was _ alive, why would it be hanging out in a tunnel on Khrumbul-dun, of all places? It mystified her. She searched his face as his chest continued to heave, sucking in great gasps of air as his mouth moved like trying to find more words. It was then she realized how huge his pupils were.

"Malroth," she murmured. "Are you  _ high?" _

"I am  _ not!" _ he yelled, pounding his fists against the bed for emphasis. She heard the frame crack. "I'm right here on the bed, I'm not much taller than you, and I'm  _ telling _ you Malroth is going to destroy us again!"

She decided against explaining what she said. "Sweetheart, I need you to—" 

"No!" he shouted, aggressively turning and pacing around the room. "We don't have time!"

But she didn't know what she needed him to do. She'd heard of people having bad trips before, which she guessed this was, but what he'd taken and how to calm him down, she had no idea. "Rubiss help me," she murmured, clutching her pendant as she helplessly watched Malroth stomp angrily around the room.

_ It appears he's having a psychedelic crisis. _

Crea felt her blood freeze. "Ketriel?" she whispered. 

_ He's not grounded in reality. You have to get him to focus on something else.  _

"Like what?" she asked, exasperated, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed. 

_ Sit with him. Hold his hand. Give him something to fidget with, perhaps something he can squeeze. _

Crea dove for her bag on the ground nearby, desperately digging around for something fitting Ketriel's description. 

_ Crea. _

"What?"

_ You need to be calm.  _

She looked up at Malroth, seeing him pacing as he rambled angrily to himself. 

_ He's working himself into a panic. He'll feed off your emotions. Be calm and he'll respond to you. _

Taking a deep breath, she pulled a stuffed hammerhood from her bag. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear gripping at her insides, but she forced herself to keep breathing, at least appearing to  _ look _ calm even if she wasn't. After carefully standing, Crea took a deliberate step forward, firmly intercepting his hand as he marched past. Malroth turned on her, but stuttered and froze at her soft smile.

"Here," she said, gently pressing the hammerhood into his chest. His free hand instinctively wrapped around it, his fingers starting to riffle through the soft fur of the stuffed toy. He seemed confused by it. "Let's sit and breathe for a minute," she said, lightly pulling on his hand as she tried to backtrack for the bed.

His gaze hardened again, stubbornly staying where he was. "But—"

"My love," she insisted, careful to dodge his name in case he focused on the monster again. "I want to sit with you. Come sit down with me. Okay? Please."

Malroth was still breathing rather heavily as he let her pull him to the bed, awkwardly sitting as she joined his side. He still seemed upset but also dazed now, mindlessly petting the hammerhood in his lap with his other hand limp in her grasp.

_ Is he seeing anything now? _

"Ma— uh, my love. Are you seeing anything?"

He shook his head, but his hand tightened around hers, making her wince slightly.

_ He may need to talk it out. Psychedelics often bring up past trauma and can intensify any lingering feelings related to the memory. _

Crea took a steadying breath. "How are you feeling?"

Malroth was motionless, staring at the floor with an unsettled expression. After a minute she thought he hadn't heard her, but as she took a breath to ask again, his lips parted. "Scared."

"Scared?" she echoed. "Why scared? You're safe here."

_ In his mind, he's not safe. Talk him  _ through _ it. _

In her mind she released a frustrated sigh. "What's making you scared?"

Malroth's eyebrows furrowed together. "Hargon," he murmured. "If Malroth is alive, Hargon is too. If Hargon is alive, he'll make me kill you again."

"Again?" Crea couldn't stop her question from slipping out.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he curled in over the hammerhood, releasing a strangled sob. "He tricked me!" he cried, his voice sounding in such pain it made her heart hurt. "He set me up, sending waves of skeletons at me, and when I killed them it was actually Rosie and Lulu and Anessa and  _ everyone. _ Then  _ he  _ came, pushing me to destroy him, goading me, and when I struck him down it was actually  _ you—" _ He sobbed suddenly, agitation evident in the cry that ripped from his throat. 

Malroth had never shared much about the horrific visions that Hargon had made him endure in Malhalla, and if this was any indication, she understood why. And yet, she hated that he guarded those memories so tightly when he very clearly still needed help. Alarmed, but trying not to show it, she leaned up next to him. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, hey, I'm right here, okay? I'm not dead, you didn't kill me. I'm right here." She squeezed his hand. "I'm still here, we're in our house—"

"He'll make me kill you!" Malroth wailed.

"No!" Crea gripped his hand firmly, making him wince and try to take it back. She didn't let him let go. "He will do no such thing. You outlived him. You are stronger than him. You're stronger than everyone and everything on this island! He can't make you  _ do _ a single damn thing!"

Malroth clutched the hammerhood tightly, still curled up in a ball as much as he was able. He was trembling now, gasping and sobbing as he shook his head, repeatedly whispering  _ no _ to himself.

_ Distract him better. He's not grounding. _

"No shit," she growled under her breath. Hand still gripping his, she reached forward with her other hand to brush his forehead. He flinched at her touch, crying out. "Malroth, you look at me right now," she commanded. "Hey.  _ Look at me. _ Open your eyes."

Sobbing, he complied, his dilated pupils almost eclipsing his red as he locked on her, staring with fear. Crea moved her hand to his cheek, leaning low to capture his lips in a deep kiss. He uttered a muffled sound of surprise, but his lips moved automatically to accept her. She felt his hand relax in hers a little, though he still took great breaths through his nose and stifled gasps in the short breaks between kisses. Gently pressing beneath his neck with her hand, she wordlessly urged his body to unfurl, helping him to sit up. When he was upright enough, Crea shoved the hammerhood aside and moved to straddle his lap. He looked up at her with wide startled eyes, hands resting habitually on her waist, panting for air as he tried to understand. 

She placed her hands on his cheeks to keep him from looking away, staring deeply into his huge eyes. "Malroth," she whispered, gentle and firm. "Listen to me. Nothing else matters right now, okay? Nothing else except for me. I am very, very real, sitting here with you, and nothing else. Okay? Just you and me, right here, and no one else."

"No… one…?"

"No one else," she repeated. 

His eyes darted between hers for several seconds, lingering fear encompassing his features making him uncharacteristically whine. Crea held firm, forcing him to stare at her, repeating under her breath to him that he was with her, nothing else mattered, he could focus on her. Malroth continued to stare, his breathing settling in his chest, sounding like he was actually catching his breath for the first time since coming back.

And then finally,  _ finally, _ it was like a fever broke.

Crea noticed it first in the strange way his pupils retracted suddenly– only slightly, but enough to be noticable. Like his gaze had gone out of focus for a moment. But then his head flinched like he had just woken up from a bad dream and his eyes were back to how they'd been, dilated wide but also as though really seeing her for the first time. He searched her eyes for a half second, and she dared to hold her breath, the silence in the room settling like a fog.

"Crea?" he whispered, sounding confused and disoriented. 

"Malroth," she responded warily.

"How did you…" He paused, eyes darting around like he was looking for something. "How did I…"

"Malroth," she whispered again. "Nothing else matters but us. Right here. Nothing else."

His eyes locked onto hers once more, taking stuttered breaths like he was about to speak but chose not to. Finally, after several minutes, he spoke with a slow, quiet voice. 

"What just happened?"

Crea exhaled, releasing her breath that she'd forgotten she was holding. Dropping her hands from his cheek to his shoulders, she wrapped him in a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder. Bewildered, he wrapped his arms around her, listening to her breathe in his ear.

"Malroth," she whispered. "You need to rest."

"What happened?" he asked again, slowly. 

She bit her lip. "You got scared."

He shook his head slowly, his voice lethargic as he spoke. "No, that's not what I meant… I know  _ what _ happened. But…  _ why _ did that happen?"

"Something just messed with your brain," she sighed, shrugging. "Could've been something in the tunnel. Or in something you ate, though I don't know what. It… went wrong."

Malroth frowned at the back wall over her shoulder, slowly processing. 

"But you're past the worst of it now. You need to rest," she insisted. 

"In a minute," he murmured, pressing his face against her neck to kiss her. "I need this too."

Crea paused, feeling and listening to him breathe against her skin. He was getting more and more sluggish, lazily kissing her skin until he stopped entirely, almost ceasing movement altogether. She leaned back, observing the passivity of his face as he seemed to float aimlessly. She exhaled. It was calm now.

Moving from his lap, she gently pressed on his shoulders, urging him to lie down. "C'mon," she said. "Rest now."

Relenting, he went down, body rolling and collapsing like a slime. His head hit the pillow and Malroth smiled goofily, falling asleep in seconds. 

Crea turned to look at the scattered fragments of the door, sighing. Mindlessly and before she could talk herself out of it, she retrieved a spare door from her bag, working through autopilot to replace the broken one. She didn't care much about cleaning up the fragments, knowing she didn't have enough energy especially after the emotional expenditure of… all of that. Crea sighed again, hesitantly biting her lip. There was  _ one _ last thing she needed to do. 

"Um… Ketriel?" 

A quiet moment passed as she returned to the side of the bed and she wondered if maybe he had left for the moment. But then his voice filled her mind with his obvious wariness at her beckoning.

_ Yes? _

She took a steady breath. "Thank you," she murmured, staring resolutely at Malroth as he slept. "I…" 

But she didn't have the words to accurately convey her gratitude at his intervention despite her animosity at his presence. All she knew was Malroth had been in trouble and Ketriel had stepped in to guide her. Surely that had to count for  _ something _ for his character.

Right?

"Thank you," she murmured again instead. It was all she could reliably say. 

Another pause. She could almost feel Ketriel's confusion, even without any words. 

_ Of course,  _ he said finally.  _ I am happy to help. You should also get some rest.  _

Crea nodded, lying next to Malroth and placing her hand on his stomach. She truly was grateful, even if she didn't presently have the energy to explain such a thing. Her eyes grew heavy and she closed them, hoping that Ketriel knew that she meant what she'd said. Malroth was her utmost importance, as she'd told him. She could only hope that maybe now he respected that. 

* * *

_ Hmm… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy 👀


	20. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea gives the miners a piece of her mind and a taste of her hammer.

A dry mouth, an ache behind his eyes, and sore legs– Malroth groaned as he came to, immediately realizing the pain he was in. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to will the pain away. It never worked despite how many times he tried. 

"You're awake." Crea's soft voice reached him from somewhere across the room, and he grunted in affirmation. 

"My head," he groaned, throat raspy and dry. "Oh Goddess…"

"Don't sit up," Crea cautioned. "You're probably in a weird hangover type thing."

"Hangover?" he echoed in disbelief. "From _what?"_

"I dunno, what did you eat yesterday?" Her voice was closer now, and he felt the side of the bed sink under her weight as she sat on it. 

"Breakfast as normal," he murmured. "With you."

"And?"

Malroth groaned as he tried to think that far back through the brain fog. "And a drink that the miners gave me… a shot of something. They called it a Wolf."

"Did they tell you what it was?"

"Prickly pop," he grumbled. "With other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

"I don't know!" he complained, clutching his head. "They didn't tell me!" He felt Crea's hand on the back of his neck, helping him sit up just a little. 

"Drink," she urged. 

Moving his hands away from his eyes, Malroth squinted an eye open just enough to see the glass in front of his face, following her lead as she helped him drink. He hadn't remembered water to be so refreshing, but it calmed his stomach and soothed his throat. He sighed after he drained the whole thing, leaning back down to his pillow. 

"Pretty sure it had grass in it," he joked, peering up at her expectant face. 

"Do you remember anything about the tunnel yesterday?" Crea asked, ignoring his comment. 

"I remember going in…" He frowned. "The walls sparkled. Diamonds, they said. I dug one out, and then…" Malroth trailed off, rubbing at his temples. "Then it gets hazy. Well. Hazy _-er."_

"Try to remember. Anything," she encouraged, placing her hand on his thigh. 

He grumbled to himself, trying to sort through the brain fog. "I remember… seeing something? It… freaked me out. And then I… ran?" His eyebrows furrowed. "That doesn't sound right. Did I dream that?"

Crea sighed. "I don't think so. Not technically."

"Not technically dreaming?" he wondered aloud. 

"No."

"I'm so confused," he groaned.

For a split second, the look in her eyes changed into one of disappointment and pity. Malroth felt his stomach tumble at the realization– he _hated_ that.

"Malroth," she said gently. "Whatever the miners gave you… I think it made you trip."

"Trip?" he echoed. "Like I fell over?"

"There are some drugs and medicines that can make your brain do funny things," Crea explained. "Given the right circumstances, it can occasionally feel nice and relaxing. Given the _wrong_ circumstances, things can go really wrong really quickly."

"And you think I had one?" he clarified. "A… trip?"

She nodded. "And a bad one at that," she said with a low tone. "You came back thinking you saw the monster Malroth down there. And you were so agitated about it you broke the door down off its hinges."

He paled, looking to his side to see the scattered door across the floor for himself. "Did I hurt you?"

Crea sighed. "No. Almost broke the bed too, though."

Malroth draped his arm over his face, hiding his eyes. "What a mess," he murmured. 

Crea raised an eyebrow. "Malroth," she said. "I'm pretty sure that whatever was in that drink sent you on your psychedelic trip. Taking that stuff on its own is one thing, but mixing that stuff with alcohol is _really_ dangerous. If the miners gave that to you, then we've got bigger problems."

"Problems?" he questioned. 

She gave him a deadpanned look, as though silently asking, _really?_

Malroth shook his head. "I seriously doubt they were trying to hurt me. Or worse, kill me."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he demanded, his headache spiking suddenly to make him groan. His mind briefly floated over Boris making his drink in the other room, out of sight, separate from the other drinks. But that wasn't enough of an indication that he'd tried to hurt him, right? He continued with his voice quieter to respect the pressure in his head. "They don't gain anything by doing that. They've been calling me Boss since I beat them in wrestling. They _like_ me."

Crea pursed her lips, still doubtful. 

"Say what you want," Malroth added, "but everybody here is as straightforward as it gets. It doesn't seem like them to do weird backhanded shady stuff like that."

"Then I guess they won't mind if I ask them some things about their _drink_ then, will they?" Crea said stiffly, standing up.

There was a calm rage that emanated as she quietly took her hammer in her hand, hefting it loosely in her palm, looking unimpressed as she went outside. Malroth shivered– he'd never seen her so upset. At least, not since she told him off when they reunited in Malhalla for sneaking away with a voice in his head. But then again, at the time he'd been overwhelmingly relieved that she was even alive and breathing, so he'd laughed in the face of her anger. Malroth groaned as he sat up, cautiously standing to follow her outside into the late morning sun. He didn't think any laughter would be intervening now.

He expected her to stomp across the sand to the miner's house, but she instead seemed to glide with a furious confidence that he didn't understand. Tentatively he followed, standing a couple steps behind her as she knocked loudly on the door. Crashing sounds came from within once again, same as yesterday, but Crea stood unfazed and firm. The door swung open.

"Uh…" Phil said dumbly, instantly withering under her impassive stare. He glanced over her shoulder and he brightened a bit. "Boss!"

"I need to speak with you," Crea demanded. "Or whoever it was that served Malroth yesterday. I have reason to believe his drink was tampered with."

Malroth saw Phil's jaw drop, even underneath the facemask of his helmet. "Tampered!" he challenged. "Cor! Pull the uvver one!"

Coolly, Crea reached up to put her free hand square on his chest, pressing lightly to push the miner aside. Stunned, Phil stepped back, watching her as she strode into the house with purpose. He looked out at Malroth, jerking his thumb at Crea's back in disbelief. Malroth felt his ears turn pink, and he made no indication of an answer as he rushed inside after her.

"Where are the others?" Crea asked, once Phil and Malroth entered the front room with her.

Phil rubbed at his neck. "Err, comin', probably."

As though on cue, Boris and Pit came sliding around the corner, their faces changing in a matter of seconds between excitement at seeing Malroth and surprise at seeing Crea.

"Boss!" Pit exclaimed. "You brought yer girl!"

Malroth felt his ears turn red.

"An' wot a sight!" Boris grinned at her, oblivious to her disinterest. "Miss Crea, it's a—"

"Who served his drink yesterday?" she interrupted, startling them. The three exchanged obvious glances with each other. 

"'Oose drink?" Pit murmured.

"Malroth's," Crea said.

"Uh, that was me," Boris admitted nervously. "Why?"

"What did you add to it?" she demanded, adjusting her grip on her hammer.

"Add?" he echoed incredulously. "I didn't add nuffin'!"

"Then do you have another explanation for what made him sick?" she asked coolly. "Why he came back yesterday afternoon tripping out of his damn mind?"

Boris's mouth fell open. "'E wot?"

Malroth saw the fire alight in her eyes. "Crea," he warned. "Threatening them isn't going to get us anywhere."

"You could have died," she said flatly. She spun her hammer in her hand, the mythril in the head gleaming brightly. "As far as I'm concerned they're lucky I don't just flatten them where they stand."

"Oi!" Pit said, raising his hands defensively. "There's no need fer that!"

She turned on him. "Then what was in the drink?" she demanded. "Something went very wrong yesterday and if you don't start giving me some answers I'm going to make you _tell_ me."

"Prickly pop!" Phil cried, trembling with his head between his hands. "Wiv an infusion!"

"An infusion of _what?"_ she asked, spitting her question from between clenched teeth.

Boris and Pit exchanged glances again, both wilting a little. "Frogstool," Boris mumbled. "We infused it wiv frogstool extract."

Malroth paled. "The poisonous pink ones?"

_"Poisonous?_ We didn't know they was poisonous!" Pit exclaimed. "We use all the uvver mushrooms 'round 'ere, we fought mebbe we'd stumbled on some secret ingredient or sumfin."

Crea exhaled slowly, trying to steady her temper. "Did it not occur to you to ask _literally anyone_ on this island about those mushrooms before you tried to eat them?"

Pit and Boris shook their heads. Phil was still shaking with his head tucked down between his hands. 

"And you understand that this _oversight_ very nearly cost Malroth his mind?" Her jaw was clenched tightly, her eyes locked angrily on the miners.

"Crea," Malroth tried. "That's putting it a little far—"

Crea slammed her fist at her side, making her hammer crack a large gash into the floor. All four men flinched in surprise, Phil whimpering beside.

"You'll dispose of that contaminated bile immediately," she insisted. "Clearly there's no monster down there if you all are _hallucinating_ such an entity. And if I _ever_ hear of any of you making such a _vile_ concoction like this again, I will personally come and break every bone in all of your hands. Twice. Am I understood?"

Malroth's eyes went wide. It was phenomenally unlike her to make such grandiose threats, never mind for an accident. The miners were dumb, sure, but not malicious.

"Yes, Miss," the miners all mumbled, dropping their gaze to the floor. 

Crea pressed her lips together tightly, regarding their sullen expressions for a moment before turning on her heel and leaving without another word. Malroth hesitated for a moment, torn. 

"Cor blimey," Boris whispered. "She's a real 'ellfire uv a girl! 'Ow d'you bleedin' live wiv that?"

Malroth flushed red, rubbing at his arm. "To be fair I've never seen her so angry before," he said. "And now that I know you put _frogstool_ in it, I can't blame her."

Boris sighed in exasperation. 

"You should go, Boss," Pit mumbled, tentatively approaching Phil, still paralyzed and whimpering. "We've gotta take care uv our mate."

Malroth nodded, shuffling to the door. "I'm sorry," he offered. There was such a hole in his stomach that he didn't understand. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The pair of lucid miners shrugged, not meeting his gaze. Malroth sighed, stepping back outside and closing the door behind him. 

He was surprised to see the door to their own house left open as he returned, and he peeked his head inside hesitantly. Crea's things were strewn on the floor in a trail leading to where she stood at the corner of the room, her back to the door as she hunched over the back of a chair for support. She was motionless as he shut the door silently, and he watched her back carefully as he took tiny steps towards her.

"Crea?" he whispered.

She didn't move, but he heard her make a quiet gasping noise. One he recognized as trying to keep herself from crying. 

"Crea?" he asked again, a little more confidently as he moved within arm's reach.

She turned slowly, her big eyes already pink as they met his worried gaze. Malroth felt his heart freeze.

"Malroth," she murmured sadly.

"Whoa, easy," he whispered, hurriedly wrapping his arms around her. "What…?"

She exhaled sharply against his chest, not even able to put her arms up around his waist. "I was so angry," she said. He could already feel her first tears on his skin. "I don't… That's not like me. I… Why did that happen?"

Malroth rubbed her back, silently listening as she shuddered against him, still trying to suppress herself from crying. He took a tentative breath. "You've been under a lot of stress."

"That's no excuse!" she cried. "I'm the _legendary_ builder, I can't go around like that or they'll all think I'm… I'm…"

But the rest of her sentence was lost in the torrent of her regret, sobbing openly. Malroth thought it strange how he felt tired now, holding her with closed eyes as he just listened. _Probably left over from the frogstool,_ he mused. 

How much time had passed, he had no way of knowing. All that he knew now, after what felt like an hour, was that she'd stopped crying. Her head shifted against his chest, slightly pulling away to breathe. He wanted to open his eyes and look down at her, but he found himself with no energy to do so.

"Malroth?" she murmured.

He wanted to open his eyes, to hum in response even, but instead, blackness consumed his mind as he passed out.

* * *

The next he knew, he was on the bed, waking. Malroth grumbled as he stretched, rolling onto his back as he looked around. He was somewhat surprised to find the bed empty next to him, laying his arm across it habitually. 

_Cold…_

He sighed, sitting up and turning on the light. The hairs on his neck rose immediately, somehow knowing something was off. Blinking as he looked around, it didn't take him long to find something that set him even _more_ on edge: a plain, indistinct letter on the nightstand with his name on it.

Taking it in his hands, he hurriedly unfurled it, darting over the words. 

> _Malroth,  
> _
> 
> _I need to go and think for a while. I'm not acting like myself lately. Try not to worry. Please. I'll be back tomorrow. I promise._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _♡ Crea_

Horrified, Malroth snapped his eyes up. Crea's hammer and bag were gone. 

"Not again!" he growled, rolling off the bed. Grabbing his hammer from where it leaned against the wall, he stormed outside. He knew he wouldn't find her here– not with how she'd just torn apart the three miners. But on an island full of tunnels, it was unlikely he could guess where she'd gone this time.

He grimaced, surveying the dark town around him. 

"Shit."


	21. The Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the miners mobilize and Ketriel reveals his plea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now, I know what you're thinking. "gigglebug! you're posting a full 5 days early! what gives?" to that I say, I finished writing the story! I'm editing and polishing it now! ~~and I need a little fire under my ass to make sure I finish editing in a timely manner!~~ ahem.
> 
> however, we have 39 chapters to get through so if you don't want your inbox to explode from my daily posting, then I will 100% not be offended if you unsub and come back when it's all finished on Jan 22, 2021. (I hope I did my math right for that date, lol.)
> 
> also I will stress again that this fic... goes places. some potentially dubious places. I'm a sucker for redemption arcs even when they may not be wholly deserved, so if that doesn't give you warning about the rest of the fic I don't know what will. (it also kind of turned into self-indulgent angst towards the end because... I'm just mean like that, I guess? so warnings for that too.)
> 
> anyway, if that didn't scare you off, read on! and see you on the 15th for dailies! :D

It was now that the town was as lively as Malroth remembered, old-timey piano tunes drifting through from the lower level. The copper bar looked fit to burst, miners idling in the doorways and letting the bitter fragrance of booze drift out over the sand, obscuring every other scent in the area. Malroth grit his teeth, slinging his hammer over his shoulder. Navigating between every miner in town in that tiny bar was going to be _fun…_ But he needed help.

So he carefully pressed his way inside, the pungent odors of sweat and alcohol burning his nose as his eyes swept over the sea of yellow and tan helmets. Occasionally there was a flash of black from the bunny suits that crossed his view, but they always disappeared behind something else before he could get a good look at them. Malroth growled, pushing between bodies to try to get to the bar. If nothing else, maybe Serge would have ideas. 

As luck would have it, he found Serge on the way, though pressed tight against the chest of a particularly burly miner, straddling his lap like there wasn't another chair in the place. Malroth got as close as he could, trying not to be jostled into the huge miner's arm. 

"Serge!" He had to shout over the noise of people to be heard, barely getting Serge's attention.

Serge's face flushed red. "I can't talk now," he said loudly, firmly, shifting deliberately. "I'm with a client!"

"What?" _Client?_ Malroth shook his head, confused. "Whatever! I need help!"

"Wait yer turn, mate," the miner grumbled, pulling at Serge's legs like he was making a point.

Serge grumbled, flushing further. "Honestly, don't you have Crea to help you with such things?"

"That's the problem!" Malroth yelled over the cacophony. "She's missing."

Serge looked bewildered. "And you want to _take care of yourself_ without her?"

"What?" Realization dawned on him, making his face burn angrily. "No! None of that! I think she's in trouble and she's missing and I need to find her!"

"Missin' yer girl?" the huge miner asked. He loosened his hold on Serge's legs, tilting his head. "That's concernin'."

"Didn't you say she was sick?" Serge wondered aloud, peeling himself off the miner's chest a little.

Malroth nodded. "She left a note saying she wasn't feeling like herself and she wanted to go off to think. I don't want to take chances on the off chance something worse comes around while she's out there."

Serge relaxed a little. "Oh, no worries then. If she's lucid enough to leave a note for you, then she's smart enough to put herself somewhere _safe._ For shame, Malroth. You've got to understand a woman's mind at least a _little_ by now."

Ears burning, Malroth bristled. "You don't understand!" he yelled, hard-pressed to be heard over the dull roar of the crowd. "She hasn't been better the whole time we've been here. Always something _off._ And now that she's gone she might—!" He stopped himself just in time, biting his tongue. He didn't want to admit he was scared the voice might persuade her to do… something. Somehow.

"You told me Crea was sick before you got here," Serge frowned. "You're absolutely sure she was sick beforehand?"

"She collapsed on Furrowfield," Malroth growled, "right before we came here, and she's slept almost entirely since she got here. Well, except for earlier today when she chewed out those three miners you introduced me to. She's sick because of… something else."

"Y'don't fink it's cos uv the monster?" the miner puzzled, genuinely concerned. "In the tunnel?"

"Perhaps not, but if it exists, its presence could be making it worse," Serge pondered aloud. 

"Definitely not makin' 'er better," the miner agreed.

"Shut up!" Malroth yelled, balling his hands into tight fists. "Both of you! She's not sick because of your damn monster!"

"Malroth," Serge said quietly. "If it's not that, then what _could_ it be? If she overworked herself as you said before, what else could be keeping her from recovering?"

He grit his teeth forcefully, eyeing the surrounding miners, even though none of them were paying him any attention. Under his breath, he mumbled only loud enough for them to hear. "One of her own monsters."

"Cor!" the burly miner breathed. "She's been possessed?"

"No, just something talking to her," Malroth admitted reluctantly. "But if she's off on her own…"

"That _is_ concerning," Serge said, biting his lip. "And worse than I thought…"

"We haf to 'elp 'em," the miner urged, bouncing his knees to get Serge's attention. 

"How?" Serge complained, setting his hands on the miner's large chest to keep from falling over. "There are _miles_ of tunnels down below, never mind the miles of desert and rock up here. Even if we got the help of every miner in here– which is doubtful, considering how many of them are drunk already– it would take us all night to scour the tunnels alone!"

"Then we hafta start now," the miner said gruffly, rising to his feet. Serge yelped as he fell backwards from his lap, but the miner caught him under his arms, holding him a foot above the ground before putting him down. Malroth took as much of a step back as he could despite the crowd around him, looking up at the burly miner who stood a head above all the others. 

"Kole, wait!" Serge protested. "We don't even know where to start. She could be anywhere!"

Kole shrugged his massive shoulders. "Doesn't mean we should wait to 'ave a butcher's down there. Sooner we start, the more places we can cross off." Raising his head, he got the attention of the entire room with a great booming shout, loud even over the uproarious crowd. "Oi! You lot! We've got a problem!"

The piano stopped, and all heads instantly turned to stare at Kole. He grabbed the scruff of Malroth's collar, raising him over everyone's heads. 

"Hey!" Malroth complained. "Put me down!"

"Some uv you may remember Malroff," he explained, pointing at him trying to wriggle from his grasp. "Which means you'll remember Crea the builder. She's 'ere too, but now she's missin'. Everyone 'oo isn't feelin' too drunk an' wants to 'elp, meet us outside so we can split inta groups."

The room swayed for a moment, miners looking at each other to gauge their own levels of inebriation. But then the majority of the room began to file out, all murmuring to each other with worry. Serge let his mouth fall open, watching the miners leave as Kole put Malroth back down on his feet.

"Thanks," Malroth muttered, adjusting his jacket back to normal as he looked around the half-empty room.

Kole simply ruffled Malroth's hair, making his twin cowlicks splay off at random angles. "Don't worry. We'll find 'er. I'll haf everybody take a partner an' send most uv us miners in the tunnels. That'll leave you an' me t' split up above ground."

Malroth grumbled as he smoothed his hair down. "I'll go south. I'm not the best at navigating rocks like you guys."

Kole nodded, walking with him to the door. "Good luck, mate."

* * *

Crea exhaled loudly, wiping sweat from her brow and looking up at the firm wall above her. Even though she knew this wall had been riddled with gaping holes when she arrived, now it looked smooth and brand new. Content with her work, she turned around. The oasis was cool in the middle of the night, but not so frigid that she needed a jacket. There was something about the water, she realized, that helped regulate the temperature to be more mild than the rest of the desert. She was glad for it. 

Walking out from between the buildings she'd repaired, Crea approached the water's edge. After removing her shoes and socks, she let her legs dangle in the water up to her knees and let herself relax. She stared up at the stars for a moment before leaning back on her hands, silently observing the multitudes of colors and stars that painted the sky. It made her feel small, but in a strange sort of happy way. The universes were vast and huge, and yet, she made a difference here wherever she went. 

Crea sighed. Well, she _used to._ Nowadays she just felt too guilty to build. The oasis she could justify, given that nobody ever came out this way. But the living situation back in town, well…

_Have you considered my suggestions?_

Ketriel's presence made her tense, but she did not flinch. Instead, she lowered her eyes, staring at the holes in the central island in the water where the red dye used to be. "Not really."

_Why not?_

She chewed at her lip silently.

_Do you fear me?_

"I thought I did," she mumbled. 

_Why so?_

Crea sighed. "You've been… so… _vague._ All these things you say how I shouldn't worry about this or that, that you'll for sure get what you need by helping me become better… it just doesn't make sense. I'm a builder, I live by details. Without them, I lose focus."

Ketriel hummed in her mind, a noise of understanding passing through her consciousness. 

"And yet," she added quietly, barely above a whisper, "when Malroth was in trouble… you helped. Despite everything. Why?"

Silence passed for several moments. She wished she could see Ketriel's face, glean some sort of information from his stance or expression. 

"Why would you help me with him?" she asked again. "It's not like you had anything to gain."

 _Why would you help build and rebuild all these islands?_ he countered. _It's not like you have anything to gain, either._

"I _did,"_ she clarified. "Before. The first time I came through. I needed help rebuilding on the Isle. So I helped them here and then they came back with me."

_And you assume this arrangement between you and I is so different?_

Crea paused, mouth hung slack. That was certainly unexpected. She'd never thought before how it must have felt to the original islanders to have some stranger appear, promising to help if they would offer help in return when everything was said and done. But then, she'd always been used to solving problems where others hardly ever dared. She was certainly different, as they all liked to remind her.

Several moments passed before Ketriel uttered a defeated sigh through her mind. _I had hoped to wait to inform you of the magnitude of the aid I am seeking,_ he admitted. _It is truthfully a massive undertaking, and I did not wish to overwhelm or scare you away._

"If you'd led with that, I don't think I'd have fought you so hard," Crea smirked. "Besides, I'm a builder, right? I'm hardly one to turn down a challenge. Vague threats, sure. But not a challenge."

Ketriel chuckled. _You're very kind. I apologize for underestimating your ability to see reason._

She snorted. "As long as I can go home after we're done, I'll help with whatever you need."

His chuckle erupted into a loud laugh. _Oh, I'll hold you to that. Thank you._

"Crea!"

She turned at her name, seeing Malroth sprinting across the desert towards her. Relief, excitement, bewilderment, and dismay washed over her as she watched him approach, especially as he drew close enough for her to see the hurricane of concern that swirled in his eyes. 

"Thank the Goddess I found you," he panted, slowing to a jog as he got closer. 

"You always do." She responded without thinking, but she shook her head as she realized it. "Malroth, I told you I would be back tomorrow. And not to worry."

"How could I _not_ worry?" Malroth demanded angrily, dropping to his knees next to her. "You just slept for three and a half days because you were worried about building because of the voice and everything and then suddenly I wake up and you're gone. What was I _supposed_ to think? I only have the thing with Hargon to draw from, so _of course_ I'm going to worry!"

"Well… When you put it like that…" Crea grimaced. "I'm sorry, I should've thought that through. But uh, hey, at least while I've been out here, I learned what Ketriel wants."

His eyes darted warily over her hopeful face. "What did he say?"

"Well, I asked why he would want to help us with our issues here, whether it be designing a big dorm in town, or walking me through how to get you through your psychotic episode—"

"He did _what?!"_

Crea ignored him. "And he said it was like when we went around to the islands the first time, recruiting people to come help us back at the Isle. I think he just needs some help rebuilding something, Malroth. That's all."

Malroth's eyes wavered for several seconds, staring at her dumbly until his expression finally hardened. "That's not possible," he growled. "He has to be lying to you."

"Lying!" she exclaimed. "Why would he lie? What does he get by lying to me?"

"Oh, I don't know," he spat, bitter and sarcastic. "Whisk away the only Master Builder within the Four Islands? He could keep you for ransom, or imprison you. There's a lot of things he could do, luring you to come _build_ for him!"

"Malroth!" Crea frowned, taken aback by his aggression. "How dare you! That's unfair. He's only asking for help!"

"You mean like when Warwick asked for help?" he argued, the venom in his voice too real to ignore. "With the dungeon? Total honesty from that one too, and that one sure worked out well in our fav—"

Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye halted his sentence, and Malroth reacted instantly to catch her wrist squarely in his palm. He looked sidelong at her open hand before giving her a knowing look, raising his eyebrow. 

"Did you just try to _slap_ me?" he questioned. 

The frustration in her eyes evaporated as she glanced over, horrified to find her wrist struggling in his grip. She went limp, but he held strong. 

"You already _bit_ me this week," he growled. "Did you really think I'd be so unaware?"

Crea winced. "Let go," she cried. "Malroth, let go, you're hurting me!"

It was in the face of her full unbridled fear that he knew it was entirely her without the influence of Ketriel, giving him the confidence enough to let go of her wrist. She almost whimpered in relief as she cradled it close to her chest, curling in over her lap as if trying to hide it away. 

"Why?" she whispered. "Why did I…"

Malroth sighed, leaning forward to press his nose into her hair and rest his hand under her ear. He hoped it came across as reassuring as he meant it to be. 

"I think you should go inside now," he murmured into her hair. 

"And you?" Crea asked, carefully raising her head to look him in the eyes. "You'll come with me?" 

Her eyes shone hopefully, making Malroth's heart flutter and sink at the same time. She looked so… fragile. A far cry from the strength he was so used to seeing. 

"Yeah," he murmured, nodding. "I have to keep you safe."

The tension she held at her shoulders relaxed at that, her expression likewise softening. "I shouldn't have left," she murmured. "I'm sorry. Things are… confusing right now."

"I know," Malroth said, standing up. "Been there, did that. You promised to keep me informed, I promised to help you through it all. I don't intend to break my promises." He extended his hand to help her up. 

She took it, rising to her feet. "I know. Just… it's getting harder."

He searched her face for a moment. Uncertainty eclipsed her eyes, darting to look around them like she couldn't bear to look at his face. Reaching his hand forward to cradle her cheek, he gently brought her head up to make steady eye contact. 

"Crea," he whispered. "I will not judge you. For any of it. I _know._ Keep telling me. Let me keep you anchored to what's happening around you. Okay? I can't lie to you. Not when it's this important."

Hesitation briefly swept through her eyes, but she nodded wordlessly. Malroth considered trying to reassure her further, but he yawned before he could say anything else. 

Crea laughed nervously. "We should sleep."

He nodded, gesturing to the nearby building. "After you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I'm so sorry~~


	22. The Master Builder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ketriel shows Crea his island.
> 
> (daily updates begin today!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up buttercup 👀 daily updates are go!

_ He does not trust you.  _

Crea felt drowsy, confused at being awake. She blinked, trying to open her eyes, but it was so dark. 

_ Why do you give him such control?  _

"What are you talking about?" she mumbled, still trying to wake up her eyes. Where was anything? Why couldn't she see?

_ The boy, _ Ketriel scowled.  _ Your companion. Thinks he knows better than a Master Builder, does he? Ordering you around like that?  _

Feeling around the bed, she sprawled across it, looking for Malroth in her blind state. "What did you do to Malroth??"

Ketriel sighed.  _ Outside of this dream, he's sleeping next to you. Stubbornly so. I had thought he'd be more concerned after you tried to hit him. _

Crea felt her skin prickle. "That was you!"

_ Hardly.  _

"You made me bite him too!"

_ Crea, please. I can only speak to your mind. How do you assume it was me that made you  _ do  _ anything? _

She bit her lip.  _ Wait… Didn't he say he did that last time? _ It was true she had no definite proof otherwise, but either way his presence had been notable before both incidents. And she was still pretty sure he even admitted to the first one… She didn't know exactly what that meant, but she knew it had to mean something. 

_ Besides, it only happens when he's trying to stop you from something. You're a Master Builder after all. Who is he to rule over you?  _

"He's my partner," she growled. 

Ketriel laughed.  _ Ah, right, yes. A lesser builder to keep yourself reminded how much better you are? I've seen how he struggles to build.  _

"He's  _ thorough." _

_ He's  _ slow, _ Crea. Do you not watch and think how you would do it better? And faster?  _

Crea clenched her jaw tightly, still trying to find anything to look at in all the darkness. "No."

_ You keep lying to yourself, dear Crea. The point still stands that he does not trust you, and he oversteps his bounds. _

"Go away and let me sleep," Crea demanded. "You're just mad. And maybe jealous."

Ketriel hummed.  _ Perhaps. But even I am not so arrogant not to notice how he tries to manipulate you. _

Slowly her eyebrows furrowed together, trying to make sense of what he said. Manipulate? Had she heard him right? Malroth was many things, but she wasn't so sure about that. "How he what now?"

_ Do you truly not see it? He says he wishes to keep you grounded to what's happening around you. But who is he to filter what goes on? How does he know what is  _ really _ happening at any given moment? Think of the things he could keep from you in case it doesn't fit his preferred narrative. What then? Would you be anchored to reality as he says, or just submissive to his whims?  _

"He's not like that," Crea growled. "He's never been like that."

_ Can you be certain? _

"Yes!"

Silence passed for a long moment before she heard Ketriel chuckle. 

_ Then what of this Warwick fellow? And a dungeon? Your partner seemed adamant that was related, though I fail to see how asking for a dungeon is related to my asking for help. _

She sighed in frustration. Her mind was feeling so foggy in the dark. "It's  _ not _ related, other than he apparently thinks I'm too gullible. But he's always thought I have issues telling people no."

_ Is not building a dungeon sensible? _

"Up until they locked him inside it," Crea grumbled angrily. "Look– the  _ last  _ time there was a voice, it was in  _ his _ head and he was imprisoned for it because it made him really aggressive and the people there didn't like it. Didn't matter what I thought. But he never talked much about the voice before then, felt like he  _ couldn't _ talk about it, and it almost led to the destruction of the illusionary world. It almost  _ killed _ him."

She could feel Ketriel's surprise.  _ He had something to do with the return of Hargon and the Master of Destruction? _

"Not voluntarily," she muttered darkly. "Tried to use him as an incubator, far as I could tell."

There was a lengthy pause as he considered this new information. Her brain was too foggy, too disoriented to even guess why he needed to consider it for so long. She couldn't help but yawn. 

_ Crea, I must apologize. I did not understand before why he did those things. However, despite that, I must insist and promise to you I am not interested in destruction. Creation is sacred, and I must ask that you please believe that I uphold that belief very firmly. _

She sighed, rubbing at a dull ache that had begun to form behind her temples. "I don't know…"

_ May I show you?  _

"What?"

_ May I show you,  _ he repeated,  _ what me and my people are up against.  _

Crea hesitated, distracted in part by the headache. "Ketriel…"

_ Please, _ he urged.  _ You opened my eyes to understanding about you and your partner. Allow me to return the favor, so that you and he may hopefully understand us too. _

She exhaled softly, conceding as her headache pulsed uncomfortably. "Fine. Just don't get too crazy…"

A series of images began to flash in front of her eyes. There was a town, bright white and gleaming, though also run-down and broken. A large and extremely tall circular building in the center looked like a combination of a town hall and a clock tower, complete with the standard builder's bell set up in front of it.

"I don't get it," Crea frowned. "This looks like typical run down stuff that we see all the time."

_ This is only what you can see,  _ Ketriel explained.  _ There is a matter of societal structure as well. You see, I was apprenticed to a builder. A Master, such as yourself. She was everything to us. But some months ago, she disappeared. All of us here have been searching for her ever since. But now hopelessness invades us, and because I was her apprentice, they have tasked me with repairs. _

"That doesn't sound like that big a problem."

_ My dear, I was apprenticed to be her second set of eyes. She brought me her plans and blueprints to find the flaws, not to actually build.  _

Crea focused on the looming tower, realizing how daunting that would be for someone with no practical experience. "Oh."

_ Please understand: I do not wish to do anything so drastic or traumatic as Hargon did. But we are still in need of help. _

"I appreciate that, but…" She trailed away, uncertain of how to ask her question. 

_ Yes? _

"I thought you needed me to come build something specific," Crea murmured, staring at the images. "Something I didn't know how to build yet."

Ketriel paused.  _ Well, yes. I am asking that you come and help build up a suitable replacement, whether it be a machine, or selecting someone to become the new Builder. _

Her frown deepened, headache intensifying the longer she stared at the images. But she couldn't look away…

_ We can handle a little while longer. I just don't want my home to suffer or be destroyed because of their hopelessness.  _

Crea nodded slowly. "I'll do it."

_ I know. You told me as such before. But I appreciate your enthusiasm. Your presence will be a great boon to us. _

"I have to tell Malroth," she said, turning away from the images to look out into the darkness. "Let me go back."

_ Will he listen? _

Crea nodded firmly as the dream began to fade. "I'll make him listen."

* * *

With a gasp, Crea sat bolt upright in bed. She was back in the otherwise empty building in the oasis, her heavy breaths the only noise in the space.

"Crea?" Malroth asked sleepily off to her side. "What's wrong?"

She turned, seeing him sit up next to her. "We have to help Ketriel," she said.

He groaned. "Not this again…"

"But he showed me his island!" she complained. "And his town! They had a Master Builder there before but she disappeared. They're running out of hope. He needs me to come train a new one."

"Train a  _ new  _ Master Builder?" he scowled. "Oh sure, a task that only took you a full year and some."

"Without training," she said. "With someone to guide me it could've easily been half that."

"Oh good," he said, rolling his eyes. "That's still what, six or seven months? Give or take? You're basically committing to move there and we still don't even know  _ where _ that is."

Crea sighed. "Why are you so against this? They need help!"

"You know damn well why I don't like this!" Malroth yelled. "Not only is this a request from a weird voice in your head, but already you'd do anything if you were asked nicely enough. Hell, you'd walk yourself right off a cliff if they asked!"

"I would not!" she yelled back, her feelings clenching tightly in her chest just like her hands gripping the sheets. "He's telling me the truth. Why won't you listen to me?"

"Because I'm supposed to protect you!" he said. "You can't  _ know _ he's telling the truth. And letting you go off by yourself to an island we know nothing about is dangerous!"

"I'm not asking to go by myself," she said, bewildered at the assumption. "What made you think I'd be going by myself?"

Malroth glowered, eyeing her with distrust for a long minute before turning away and sliding off the bed. "We need to get back to town," he said coldly. "Half of Khrumbul-dun is out looking for you."

"Don't change the subject," Crea demanded. "We're  _ going  _ to help Ketriel."

_ "No," _ he muttered, standing up straight. "You're not. We're going to finish up here and then we're going  _ home." _

"Home? What about Moonbrooke?" she demanded angrily. "What is wrong with you? You can't tell me what to do!"

"When you're sick, I can!" he said, stalking off towards the front door. "Maybe when you stop acting weird we can do it, but we will  _ absolutely not _ make any more trips while you're like this." He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her. "You want me to believe this Ketriel guy, tell him to leave you alone for an entire week and I'll reconsider." With his final words, he stepped through and closed the door firmly behind him.

Crea scowled at the door, pounding her fists at her side and spitting a frustrated growl from between her teeth. "Why?" she grumbled. "Why won't you help?"

_ Does he often deny help? _

"No!" she cried. "That's what I don't get. Why wouldn't he want to help? We've helped  _ loads _ of people before. Together. What's different now?"

_ I should think in light of his past trauma, he believes it to be wise to mistrust all voices. Considering Hargon, I do not blame him.  _

Crea scowled again. "He shouldn't tell me I can't go to Moonbrooke," she complained. "Just because he doesn't like you doesn't mean Moonbrooke should pay for it."

_ I agree. May I perhaps offer a suggestion?  _

"What?"

_ Since his previous issues seem to be clouding his judgment, perhaps it would be wise not to speak with him about me again until his specified week has passed. _

Crea frowned. "But you need a Builder…"

_ My people can wait until your repairs in Moonbrooke are a success. Things are not yet dire. _

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, staring out the window to see Malroth pacing beside the oasis. "I… I can try to convince him. There's still some building to be done around here, so it'll be a little bit anyway, I think." She sighed. "I didn't take sufficient notes on your dorm idea though, so I might have to draft that again if you're going to disappear for a week."

Ketriel chuckled.  _ Oh, I don't intend to actually leave. I'll perhaps be a little more quiet over that time, but I'll still be here for you. You already believe me, after all. The only person who needs convincing is him. If you don't tell him, then he's none the wiser and we all get one step closer to what we want. _

"Lie?" she whispered. "But…"

_ Crea, _ he said gently.  _ Do you think he'll ever let you go if you don't?  _

Nervously, she chewed her lip. "But I promised…"

_ So that you can hurt him again?  _

Her heart sank. "I don't want to hurt him…"

_ It's just a week. Later on when you come and get things squared off around here and he realizes it was indeed for everyone's benefit, perhaps then he will no doubt agree with what we did. As for now, I really think silence is our best and safest option.  _

Silently she watched Malroth pace around in the shallows of the oasis, his motions becoming less agitated on each pass. Her eyes followed him back and forth, feeling the same in her heart– wavering between silence and keeping her promise. Already he was hurting, and she didn't want to add to it now. But would putting his pain off to the future be worth it, in the end? 

Crea sighed. "Alright," she said quietly. "Fine. I'll do it. But no late night inspiration-fests. If we're gonna pull this off, you're gonna have to help me act like it."

_ Of course. In the meantime, I'll scour what texts I can and try to find a solution to your too-hot-to-touch issues with the bars.  _

She cringed. "You saw that?"

_ I saw you doodling about it,  _ he chuckled.  _ Second set of eyes, remember? Old habits.  _

"That's fair, I guess…" She sighed again after the tense moment had passed, sliding off the side of the bed. "Well, I'm going to go outside, so quiet down a bit."

Ketriel smirked.  _ As you command it. _


	23. The Restitution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Restitution: The act of making good or compensating for loss, damage, or injury._
> 
> In which Malroth and Crea somewhat make up, and definitely make out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: this is the chapter! extremely brief, nondescript gloss over of teh sex at the end. literally the last paragraph. much vague. proceed with caution if necessary. (I think it's incredibly mild, but better safe than sorry.) if it squicks you, bail after Malroth talks about getting sand everywhere.

The oasis was calm, its soft blue waves lapping peacefully at the shore under the gentle morning light. A stark contrast to Malroth as he kept stomping past it. The fury in his chest was so deep that he wondered if it would be worth throwing himself in the water to shock himself back to the surface. Yet he knew it wouldn't help. Even if it did calm his anger, it would do nothing to ease the lingering cloud of fear that clung to his mind.

Malroth growled at the helplessness that rose in his throat. He couldn't understand it. They'd both been terrified of the voice at first, especially with the cryptic messages and repeated urgings of  _ needing _ a Builder, whatever that was supposed to mean. And now he was supposed to believe this Ketriel person was benign? Malroth spat in the sand. More like he just had time to find a way in by watching all the time. Figuring her out. Figuring  _ him _ out, too. He sighed. And with how she was acting lately, it seemed like it was working. 

It honestly terrified him. Not that he could tell her. 

The door opened and he stopped pacing in order to instinctively look towards it, seeing Crea awkwardly shuffle out of the building. She glanced around before her eyes met his, her cheeks turning pink with surprise. Firmly she kept her gaze locked on him as she approached, somehow nervous and determined at the same time. 

It was strange. 

"He left," Crea said quietly. 

Malroth felt his eyebrows scrunch together a little. "So easily?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "He says it's important."

He eyed her cautiously, not so stupid to forget the hissy fit from minutes before. Something about this was strange. Almost wrong.

"You don't believe me," she murmured. 

"I don't believe what  _ he _ says," Malroth clarified. "But that doesn't mean I don't believe you."

They stared at each other for several seconds, both leery considering the anger they'd thrown around like weapons over the past day. Crea broke first, eyes watering as she couldn't take the pressure any longer. 

"Malroth," she whispered. 

It was so easy to shove his pride aside for her. Almost like his defenses were paper, and even the mere threat of her rain made him crumple. He stepped forward, tentatively opening his arms to her if she chose to accept them. Wordlessly she took the single step forward to bury her face on his shoulder, her arms curled tight between their chests. 

"I'm so sorry," she whispered breathlessly, feeling his arms wrap around her. "I can't do this. I can't…"

"Can't do what?" he murmured in her ear. She didn't answer. Her tears were hot on his jacket, but her voice seemed stuck like she was still holding the floodgates back. "Can't do  _ what?" _ he asked again, but she only shook her head against him, emitting a long voiceless cry. Malroth squeezed her shoulders. "Crea, I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry…"

She shook her head again, a little more agitated.

"I shouldn't have said those things."

Shook her head again. 

"What's wrong?" he tried. Something was strange, but he didn't know enough to know why. 

"I can't…"

"You can," he urged. "You can tell me anything. I may still be rough around the edges but I'll never hurt you. Intentionally. I mean—" He groaned. "Never mind. The point is I'm not leaving you. Tell me."

Crea shuddered, taking stunted breaths as she tried to find her words. He squeezed her shoulders again, silently urging her. She took a deep breath.

"Oi!"

Crea exhaled sharply at the intrusion, shaking and releasing a low whimper as she buried her face tight against neck. Malroth raised his head, looking to find Kole swiftly jogging towards them.

"Y'found 'er!" he called.

Malroth grit his teeth, but tried not to show his annoyance. "Yeah," he called back, his voice slightly breaking.

Kole slowed, still several feet away. "Oof, yer both lookin' right beat up. Everyfing alright?"

Crea trembled, trying not to cry in front of a stranger. Malroth simply nodded. "Just a little shaken up, but we're fine."

Kole nodded back. "Cor, I don't blame eivvuer uv ya fer that. Y'need anyfing?"

"No," Malroth said. "We'll be back soon. Just need to… uh. Put ourselves together."

Kole saluted. "Understood, Boss. Not a problem. I'll 'ead back an' call off the search."

"Hey," he called before the miner could turn away. "Thanks for helping."

Kole grinned, obvious even under his facemask. "Aye. Be careful, eh?" He turned and jogged over to the naviglobe, fiddling with it for half a second before he disappeared. 

Malroth turned his attention back between his arms, noticing she was breathing much calmer than she had a moment before. "You okay?"

Crea shook her head yet again. "No, but I will be," she murmured. 

"You still need to tell me something?"

"No," she murmured again. "I just… needed to cry I guess. And hug you."

He was doubtful of her assessment, but he didn't say anything. Not only had she not really cried it out, but there had been something she had swallowed back. He wasn't sure he wanted to press though, so he nodded instead. "Should we go rest?" 

"No," she said, eyes still hidden at his shoulder. "I want to build."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I'm on my own for a week, remember?" Crea said shyly. "At your request, no less."

Malroth frowned. "Not  _ entirely _ on your own," he countered. "You've got me, haven't you?"

Her silence was a little too long for his liking. 

"Crea?"

"Yeah," she responded quickly. "Sorry. I was thinking a little too far ahead."

Malroth felt his eyebrows furrowing together tightly. It was vague, and slight, but  _ something _ felt wrong. It made him feel slightly nervous… and doubtful, which he hated. Wariness prodded at his mind for a second before he took a breath.

"Should we warp back?" he asked, biting back his unbidden questions.

He could almost imagine her blinking at his shoulder, processing his question. "Can we?" she wondered quietly. "Won't you get sick?"

Malroth shrugged. "Haven't warped since we got here. I'm sure it'll be fine." He considered for an extra moment. "Is there no chance you can warp us directly into the house?"

Crea snorted, raising her head but looking off to the naviglobe. "I can try," she murmured. "But no promises."

"That's all I can ask, right?"

The hesitation that passed over her face was tangible, but she nodded anyway, moving a hand to squeeze his. 

"Are you  _ sure _ you're okay?" Malroth interrupted quietly. 

"Yeah," she said, still staring off at the naviglobe. "Why?"

"You've been acting strange since you came outside," he grumbled. "More than usual."

Crea sighed, dropping her gaze to the ground. "I know. I just want to make you not worry."

"We're past that part."

"Not worry  _ worse, _ then."

"It's not worth it," Malroth muttered. "If you're worrying by yourself, you'll end up feeling worse and then I'm feeling worse because you're feeling bad. Don't worry about me right now, okay? We can sort through that after you're better."

Crea simply nodded, eyes still down as she squeezed his hand. "Are you ready?"

He squeezed back. "Yeah."

A wave of blue light, and they were gone.

* * *

On their return to the town (and not directly into their house like Malroth had hoped), they were adequately swarmed by the miners that had lingered in town after all the search parties had left. Many of the miners had not seen Crea since she'd left the island after her last visit, and Malroth watched as her forced smile gently turned into a sincere appreciation for the miner's enthusiasm. It calmed him. She was never meant to be alone.

Of course, the crowd only grew as miners returned from the tunnels, relieved at the news she'd been found. And it wasn't too long after that that someone proposed a celebratory toast, and that quickly devolved into midday drinking on all fronts. Crea allowed herself to be whisked away, smiling and laughing as she darted around the room, being pulled this way and that for a miner to share a shot of mild alcohol or regale her with their latest tale of heroism. Malroth simply lingered on the wall, tending to a beer or three or four of his own, occasionally getting clapped on the shoulder by passing miners who knew him. He didn't mind that he wasn't the center of attention. She was honestly much better suited for it. 

Eventually the day turned to night, and the bar was still in full swing. The sea of miners crashed in waves on the bar with a steady rhythm, the ocean of booze unrelenting for their thirst. But the winds changed as they often do, turning the waves to slosh Crea back onto Malroth's shore. He hummed as she leaned onto his chest from between his knees, giggling madly, drunkenly touching his cheek with lazy fingers. For his part he couldn't help but laugh, his happy heart propped up with alcohol as he accepted her affection, holding her waist to keep her from falling over. It was when she started trying to kiss him that he knew where things were headed, assisted by her poor attempts to whisper in his ear how she wanted him. Malroth knew his mind was clouded, but he wasn't so far gone as to be completely oblivious. In any case he figured it was high time to go home.

They stumbled out into the dark, leaving behind the cheering miners at their departure. Crea smiled dumbly, clinging to Malroth's arm as they walked, slurring.

"Wherr we goin'?"

Malroth snickered. "Home, goofball."

"Buht I  _ wan _ you."

His heart surged again, the alcohol cutting through his usual reservations.  _ Goddess, _ he missed her. "Let's make it inside first. I don't want sand everyplace."

Crea was insistent as soon as they passed through the door, rubbing her hands on his ribs like she'd forgotten how to help his jacket off. He wanted it too badly to say no, and the rest was a blur of clothes and skin and sweat and screams of relief. The euphoric look on her face was emblazoned onto the forefront of Malroth's mind, and he blissfully drank in as much of her satisfied expression as he possibly could. He felt his consciousness begin to drift as soon as they finished, and so relaxed and assured was his inebriated mind that he was asleep as soon as he made it onto his side. 


	24. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they deal with a hangover and recover. Kinda.

It was a calming sort of waking when Malroth came to. The kind that gently nuzzled, bringing consciousness to the front in such small motions so as not to bring attention to itself. The kind that left him still and motionless on his belly for many minutes as he simply experienced it, tentatively taking note of his body against the bed. It was so quiet, and he was so still. Like the morning had frozen simply so he could enjoy this moment. 

A muffled groan accompanied the shift in the bed off to his side, and just as easily as that the spell was broken. Having the fortitude to open his eyes now, he yawned as he shuffled onto his side from his stomach, watching a not-yet-conscious Crea shift and grumble as she awoke with drastically different feelings. 

"Ugh, my head," she moaned, clutching at her head with her palm. She winced, splaying on her back before her eyebrows furrowed. "Why do I feel… sticky? Ugh, Goddess, what time is it… Wait, what…?" She raised her head enough to see her bare chest, then dropped it back to her pillow with a sigh. "Why am I naked…?"

Wordlessly, Malroth reached over to gently put his hand on her stomach, alerting her to his presence. Crea pulled her hand back enough to squint at him, meeting his soft gaze before groaning and covering her face again.

"Well I'm glad drunk me didn't fancy some random miner," she grumbled. "I assume this means we…?"

Malroth nodded. "You were very insistent."

"Just like this hangover," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "Good Goddess, how much did I _drink?"_

He shrugged. "At least ten shots or so, I think, over the several hours we were there at the bar."

_"_ At _least_ ten? Shouldn't I be dead?" Crea whispered, completely horrified. She draped her arm over her face. "Geez, no wonder my head feels like a beating drum. Ugh…"

Malroth hummed, dropping his gaze to rub his thumb in wide circles around her belly button. 

"You sound pleased with yourself," she grumbled. 

He shrugged a shoulder. The way the morning woke him made him feel incredibly calm, to the point he knew he was listening more objectively than normal. Like his emotions hadn't woken up yet. "It was good to see you smile again."

Surprisingly she tensed, her movement freezing as she looked down at him. "I haven't been smiling?"

"Nope." He kept drawing lazy circles on her skin. 

"And you…" Crea trailed off, uncertain of what she was trying to ask. 

"It probably helps that Ketriel is gone," Malroth hummed thoughtfully. "So it could be just us for all of that."

She paled slightly but he missed it, staring intently at his finger on her abdomen. "Yeah," she murmured. "Probably." She draped her arm back over her face, groaning.

He finally looked up again, registering her discomfort through his calm daze. "I should get you some water," he declared, sitting up and sliding off the bed. 

Crea watched his bare backside as he ambled over to the kitchenette, and she felt Ketriel's presence briefly touch her mind.

_For what it's worth, I stopped paying attention as soon as you started drinking. I have far better use for my time, thank you very much._

She exhaled in relief, self-consciously pulling the sheet up over her chest. "Thank the Goddess," she mumbled. 

_When you've recovered from your hangover, I found a recipe for a kind of paint you might be interested in. It will help the other bars from being too hot to touch. Until then, I have some matters of my own to attend to._

Feeling Ketriel's presence dissipate, Crea let her eyes refocus on Malroth as he returned with a huge jug full of water between his hands. She squinted. 

"Did you just bring me the whole damn pitcher instead of just a glass?"

He smiled dopily, setting it gently on the nightstand before climbing back in next to her. "Can't be too careful."

The rest of the day was spent fading in and out of consciousness. Crea's pained moans of protest would alert Malroth, and he would dutifully help her with water or snacks before helping lure her back to sleep. It was a nice, quiet day, all things considered. Eventually when they couldn't sleep anymore in the late afternoon they snuggled and spoke in quiet tones, discussing Crea's vague ideas for the dorm she needed to build, with Malroth chipping in what few ideas he could. Not much really came of it other than deciding they would work more on the project in the morning, and it calmed them enough that they could drift off to sleep once more.

In the fading remains of their hangovers as they recovered, the town continued to thrive, still living up to its name as the town that never slept.

* * *

Mindlessly, Ketriel stared unseeing at his desk, tapping a pencil at his thigh. It had been some time since he'd been able to check in with Crea, unconscious and hungover as she was. He scowled, rolling his eyes. And she thought he'd spy on her for that? 

"As if I would _want_ to vicariously participate in such frivolities," he spat. "Disgusting."

A stack of papers on his desk caught his attention, and he sighed as he settled deeper into his chair, looking around. His small though elegant office was comfortable– bookcases on the wall, tall wing-backed chair in the corner, assorted trinkets on shelves. And then there was his desk, imposing and covered in papers. Scribbled notes and memos, urgent notices concerning this and that; even with the handful of open books stacked atop one another in a semi-orderly fashion, it was a right disaster. Ketriel sighed once more. "Would that everything could go back to normal so I could get this massacre under control," he grumbled. 

His eyes paused on a scribbled note he had recently left, circling and underlining the words _one week._ Humming, he sat up a bit.

"Still, I suppose I should be grateful," he mused. "More time wasted that she pretends to be _without me._ Does the time from the oasis count as day one, I wonder? Or from now, with the hangover?" 

Ketriel paused, staring blankly as he considered it, until he abruptly chuckled.

"Well, I should think it doesn't matter. Ideally she'll simply get used to not sharing my words with her lapdog, and then I'll be poised to _really_ get things underway."

He took his pencil in his hand once more, tapping it against his leg again as he considered the white pillar of sunshine outside his window. He nodded resolutely. 

"Yes. You'll become an even greater Master Builder yet, Crea. An _ultimate_ builder." Ketriel smiled broadly. "It is an offer you cannot refuse…"

The pencil snapped against his leg. 

"Not anymore."

* * *

"What do you think about using masonry walls up here? Or maybe the vault ones?" Crea asked, extending her arm out and raising her thumb into the air. She lined her extended thumb with the far wall, inadvertently sticking her tongue out in concentration. 

Malroth glanced over at her, brushing dust from his jacket. After recovering from the previous day's hangover, Crea had woken up that morning invigorated and flush with ideas for the miner's new dorm. He'd been admittedly apprehensive about letting her build, never mind by herself, and insisted that he help. She hadn't been thrilled about the offer at first, but she relaxed as she ended up reteaching him how to do the special hammer smash that, ironically, he had taught her to begin with. It was a technique thing that he didn't quite grasp, despite being able to do it in his own way. All in the wrist, she kept saying, which made little sense to him how learning a technique had to do with somehow getting into his wrist. Or something.

"You mean like the ancient temple thing's walls from the last time we were here?" he replied, eyeing the walls and trying to envision the patterns again. 

Crea nodded, now moving her thumb to line up with the corner of the room. "Thought it might be a cool throwback. And incidentally, help keep the room cool too."

Malroth frowned. "I was pretty sure you didn't categorize those blocks as _cool…_ You said they were normal and boring."

"I didn't mean _ambience_ cool, silly. I meant temperature cool."

"Oh."

So far they'd only managed to climb up from the copper bar into the overhang and clear away the rock as Crea had directed. She'd already placed a few strategic pillars to support the ceiling, and now that the room was structurally secure she'd moved on for the aesthetic. 

"Yeah, I think that's what I want," Crea said, turning to him. "I think I'm going to do the outer wall and windows first. What do you want to do?"

Malroth shrugged. "What do you need?"

She frowned slightly. "You've done buildings with me before, so you should know what needs to be done."

"We've never built a room into a cliff face before," he countered. "Are we setting a proper floor? Or walls? Or ceiling? Are we doing stairs or a ladder? And where?"

Crea huffed. "Okay, fine. Valid points. The ladder will be in the corner there." She pointed. "It _should_ line up with the wall behind the copper bar. I'll do that when I'm done with this wall. You can swap out the floor though. You've used my trowel before, right?"

Malroth bit his lip. Her trowel was not his favorite tool, being complicated to use and all. But her frequent snippy retorts from all morning made him reluctant to request a different job. "Yeah. What flooring were you wanting?"

She shrugged, tossing her bag to him. "Pick something."

"This is _your_ building. _You_ pick."

Grumbling, she looked at the section of wall in her hand before shrugging. "Just go with the vault tile." She was moving and placing things for the wall before he could ask anything else. 

Poking through her bag, he found both the trowel and the vault blocks. His mouth curled in disdain before reluctantly but dutifully trundling off to the corner to start changing the floor. Fortunately everything went about as well as he expected, aside from having to relearn the size of the thing and refigure out the appropriate movement to get it to work. In all, it was relatively smooth sailing. He'd finished his second row about halfway through the giant room when he stood up straight and looked to see how much tile he had left. 

"What's wrong?" Crea asked, appearing at the side. 

He looked up, watching her approach. "Nothing yet. Just wondering if I should make more tile."

"You know how," she said, taking her bag back and rummaging through for something.

Malroth sighed, trying to mask his annoyance. "I _know_ that I know how. I only stopped two seconds ago to check how much I had left."

"Oh. Well, I'll do the ladder then. I need the trowel for the walls and ceiling. Think you'll be done with it when I get back?"

He eyed the rest of the large space. "Doubtful."

Crea pursed her lips, looking around the space. "Really?"

Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his voice level. "Do you want to do it?"

At his reply, she finally turned to look at him, catching his surly expression. "Wh—"

"Here, maybe you _should_ do it," he grumbled, pressing the trowel into her arms. "Since you're so fast."

Crea's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "What's gotten into you?"

"Into me!" he said incredulously. "You mean _you!_ You've never been so pushy like this before. You used to _like_ that I was thorough. Or was that a lie to build my confidence?"

"Uh, no. Not a lie." She tilted her head to the side, sharp concern etched into her features. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Malroth studied her a moment, grinding his teeth. "You've been snippy all morning," he replied under his breath.

"Have not."

"Have so! You griped that I did your toast wrong and it's all been downhill from there."

"Okay," Crea sighed, setting a hand against her forehead. "Okay. So maybe we're both still a little irritable from yesterday."

"A little?" he muttered. 

"And maybe building together was a bad idea for right now," she continued, ignoring him. "Is there something else you'd rather do?"

_I want to go home and get back to normal,_ he thought bitterly, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. 

She sighed. "Maybe I can keep going while you go beat up some miners. For training, of course."

"And let you build unattended?" Malroth scowled. 

"I don't know what you want from me," Crea said, exasperated. "You had me tell off Ketriel to leave me alone for a week, and now that he's gone like you asked, you _still_ won't let me do anything?"

He glanced off at the corner, hiding his eyes. "I'm just worried," he admitted quietly. 

"I know," she said. "But I'm fine. I just want to hurry and finish this so it's not weighing on me anymore."

He didn't like it, but he didn't have anything to refute it with. Feelings didn't make for good evidence. Malroth sighed, unfolding his arms and loosening his shoulders. 

"Fine," he admitted. "Where do you want the ladder to go? I'll dig the hole to get out of here."

Crea pointed at the corner. "There, a few feet from the wall. I marked it out a while ago. Be careful on the way down though, it's a ten foot drop once you break through."

"I've had worse," Malroth snorted.

Watching him dig into the brittle rock, it wasn't long before his head disappeared into the hole. Light burst up through the shaft and she heard him land on the ground and wander off, seemingly okay. She sighed. 

_You were very convincing._

Crea scoffed. "Sure. Right."

_Hey, it'll be finished faster now. That's something._

"I guess." She peered out the window, seeing Malroth stop by the declaration station, looking around like he was deciding where to go. 

_It was necessary. The sooner we're done with this, the sooner we can prepare paint for tomorrow. Or tonight, up to you._

Crea turned back to the room, surveying the space. "Probably tonight," she said, taking her trowel again in her hand. "This won't take very long at all."


	25. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth returns to the tunnel and discovers what the wolf is really made of.

"Oi, Boss!"

Malroth snapped from his mindless pondering, looking up to see Boris, Pit, and Phil. Each had a full-looking backpack pulled over their shoulders, grinning. 

"What are you doing?" he wondered aloud. 

"Gonna take anuvver trip into the mine," Pit declared. "Gonna dispose uv the stuff like Miss Crea said!"

"You're looking way too happy about that," Malroth observed. 

"Yeah, well," Boris grinned, "can't dispose uv it wivout a good sendoff."

He let his mouth fall open into an amused and exaggerated  _ oh. _

"Then when the bags are empty, we fill 'em wiv diamonds!" Pit said happily. "And wiv no monster, we can stay down there a while."

"Sounds like fun," Malroth smirked. "I'm in."

The three grinned, punching each other's shoulders as they all started off for the tunnel. 

"You fink she was right?" Phil asked warily. "Abaht the monster?"

"Oi, we've talked abaht this already," Boris sighed. "We've never been down there wivout Wolf in our systems. Sounds logical an' right t' me."

Phil was still nervous with that answer, but he followed his friends into the tunnel all the same, persuaded enough by the explanation.

"By the way," Malroth said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the tunnel. "I uh… I wanted to apologize. Crea has been… not totally like her normal self lately. Which meant she blew up harder than she meant to, last time."

Boris scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. Pit nodded in agreement, adjusting his backpack. "She was right, wasn't she?"

"Didn't mean she had to traumatize you guys," Malroth insisted. 

Pit shrugged. "Maybe. Our heads're already fick as stone and then we've got a helmet on top uv that!" He knocked against his helmet for emphasis. "We're stubborn blokes."

"Our next try will be better," Phil said, finding the courage to pipe up. "Every try is always better."

"I'll drink to that!" Pit cheered. 

"At the bottom!" Boris amended. "Bit early."

Malroth couldn't help but snigger at that.

The miner's enthusiasm was contagious as they descended further into the tunnel, considerably lifting Malroth's spirits despite their literal descent. He felt light when they reached the leveled bottom, not even the heat dampening the mood between them. The miners carefully lowered their bags to the floor, Pit pulling out several mugs from somewhere. He instinctively offered one to Malroth, who held up his hands instead.

"Due to last time, I think I'll pass," he said. "Dunno why it bothers me more than any of you, but somebody's gotta keep their wits about them, right?"

"Always finkin' ahead fer the crew, eh boss?" Boris grinned, mugs clinking together as he took his from Pit. "Don't worry, I'll drink one fer you!"

Malroth opened his mouth to thank them when a piercing, metallic smell overwhelmed his senses. Closing his mouth again, he turned, staring off into the dark tunnel. 

"Me too," Phil chuckled, hoisting the small keg under his arm. "Been lookin' forward to a drink all mornin'!"

Pit grinned, steadying his mug under the spout. "At this rate, maybe we won't hafta pour it aht someplace. We'll just drink it all. Same same, right?"

At the sound of running liquid behind him, Malroth was certain he saw a certain shadow begin to take shape. He clenched his fists, mindful of his hammer's weight on his back. "That stuff doesn't affect us by air, right?" he asked softly. "I mean, you for sure have to  _ drink _ it in order to start seeing things? Right?"

The miners all froze at his questions, then slowly raised their eyes to look down the dark tunnel. Phil started to tremble immediately. 

"H-Hey," he sputtered. "You guys promised not to spike me breakfast no more!"

The metallic smell grew stronger the more the shadow grew, and Malroth grit his teeth. "That's not a hallucination," he scowled, readying himself for a fight as he pulled his hammer from his back. "That's definitely  _ real." _

"Spare us!" Pit screeched, immediately hurling his half-filled mug at the creature in the darkness. "We ain't done nuffin', alright! We'll never come back, promise!"

There was a new sound that caught Malroth's attention now, even over the miner's blubbering behind him. It made him pause from his battle stance, tilting his head to and fro to try and zero in on it. 

"We'll give the diamonds back too!" Boris cried, similarly lobbing his drink into the dark. "Anyfing! Just don't eat us!"

"Shut up," Malroth hissed. "Do you hear that?"

"Is it sayin' it'll eat us?" Phil wailed. "I don't wanna be lunch!"

"Shut _up!"_ he repeated. "No, listen, do you hear it? It sounds like…"

All four listened intently for a few seconds, realization dawning on them.

"Slurping," Malroth finished. 

Incredulously, they watched as the shadow came forward just enough into the light, its giant tongue licking along the ground, following the odd trail of alcohol. 

Malroth felt his mouth drop open. "A goodybag?"

It was a familiar shape, though the colors were wrong, being more copper-looking rather than beige or blue as he'd come to expect. Plus it was easily three times bigger than any other goodybag he'd ever seen before. Around its head were several floating trinkets, as all goodybags liked to do, but this one seemed to favor… lumps of metal. Oddly, it seemed to ignore them entirely as it licked at wherever the drink had landed, silently indulging itself. 

"It likes the taste," Malroth realized, absentmindedly returning his hammer to his back. "It must smell the frogstool. That must be why it kept coming after you guys, it thought you smelled nice."

"That's a compliment I never fought I'd hear," Boris admitted. 

Malroth whirled around, pointing at the keg under Phil's arm. "Give me that!" Phil yelped as he tossed it, trying to keep it from spilling as he did so. Malroth caught it expertly, swinging back towards the tunnel with the momentum. "Hey! Metalbag! Have a drink!"

The keg looked to fly through the air in slow motion, all five sets of eyes watching it intently. The goodybag stretched its mouth into a massive grin, its tongue reaching to catch the keg in the air and guide it into its mouth. Eating the entire thing whole, it crunched on the hardened wood, satisfied noises echoing in the otherwise silent tunnel. It belched suddenly, then deflated a little. And then Malroth saw something happen in its eyes. 

He blinked, making sure he was seeing it properly– the thing looked undeniably submissive by flattening itself out like that. But the way its eyes glimmered hopefully was familiar to him. 

_ Familiar like… _

"It wants to be friends?!" Malroth blurted.

The miners shuffled awkwardly behind him, unsure how to proceed. Malroth stared incredulously at the bag for a long moment, but then he spun around, pointing back at the goodybag.

"What are you waiting for? It's  _ your _ drink. Go friend it!"

"Friend a monster?" Phil squealed. "Yer bleedin' mad!" 

Pit nodded enthusiastically, his voice evaporated from fear. 

"'Ow?" Boris asked, ignoring the other's protests. 

Malroth turned back to look at the goodybag. "I haven't friended one of these before, but most monsters like it if you say nice things and invite them to come live with you. If it weren't so big, I'd say pet it."

Boris hefted a deep breath, then hesitantly walked past Malroth, hand outstretched defensively. "Er, hey big guy. Or gal? It's hard to tell. Uh…"

The goodybag kept a vigilant eye on him as he approached, still flattened and sticking its tongue out from between closed lips. 

"Uh… I see y'liked our drinks! It's fancy, eh? We've got anovver keg if y'want. We're not allowed t' 'ave any more, but we can make some fer you. Well, more. This is our last batch."

The goodybag lifted its tongue, eyes sparkling at the prospect. It made several happy sounding chirps.

"Yeah? That sounds good, innit?" Boris was very close now, skirting around the large tongue, hand closing in on touching the metal-looking surface of its bag. "Fink you might wanna come wiv us?"

It chirruped, nodding, looking tickled. Boris finally reached forward enough to touch its cheek, his eyes going wide in surprise. 

"Yer warm!" he exclaimed, making firmer eye contact with the monster. "We've only met wiv Jules before, an' 'e's always cold!"

"JuLes?" the bag squeaked. "I havEn'T VarDa'd hiS DOlly olD Eek in a lONg WhILe!"

Malroth grimaced. It'd been a long time since he'd had to interpret a goodybag's weird way of speaking.  _ At least I don't have to read it, _ he thought. 

Boris looked just as taken aback, like he'd also forgotten goodybags could speak. Phil and Pit wore similar expressions. "Er, yeah. 'E's been gone a bit, said he finks 'e smelled somefin' nice a while back."

"SOmEthInG FanTAbuLosA?" it wondered aloud. It hummed thoughtfully. 

"Will you eat us now?" Phil shouted in fear, head clutched between his hands. Malroth rolled his eyes. 

"EAt yoU? WhY?" The goodybag looked confused.

"We smell like the frogstool!" Pit shrieked. 

"My FavORoSa!" It waggled its tongue again. 

"You idiots," Malroth scoffed back a laugh. "Frogstool is  _ all _ monster's favorite food. You accidentally made monster munchies in drink form."

Pit looked up in surprise. "We wot?"

Malroth nodded. "Crea used to use them all the time when we needed to recruit more help for the Isle. I don't think she ever befriended a goodybag, though."

"So, er…" Boris stuttered, looking bewildered as he turned to the metal goodybag. "Mister Bag. You gonna be our fourf roommate?"

"MIsTer?" A strange sound came from its lips, and it took a second for Malroth to realize it was laughing. "GeMma is NaNti mIsTer!"

Boris shrugged, exasperated. "Cor blimey! The lil' miss don't wanna live wiv us!"

"YoU puT LEttErs In mY OvEN!" Gemma laughed again. "I wOUld foLLow ZhOoSHy tAStiEs anYWheRe!" She chirped happily at the thought.

Malroth grinned, smugly folding his arms across his chest. "Sounds like we should get back to town before she changes her mind."

* * *

The commotion upon their return was noticeably sparse, considering the majority of the miners were still out for the afternoon. But it didn't take long for the word to spread to them anyway, and soon the plaza was full of beefcakes either chattering excitedly or staring in disbelief. Gemma, to her credit, infrequently spun in place next to the declaration station, turning her attention to whichever miner was close enough to address her. Her bronze sheen glimmered in the sunlight, reflecting brightly. 

Malroth watched from the outskirts with vague interest, wondering how long it would take for the drinks to start flowing. His sharp senses alerted him to something behind him, and he turned to see Crea descending the ladder from the new dorm. His stomach tensed a little, but he did his best to ignore it, turning back to watch the crowd as she silently appeared at his side. 

"What's going on?" she asked, observing the crowd. 

Malroth motioned with his head at Gemma. "Female goodybag."

"Really? I had no idea they looked different."

"Me neither." He shrugged. "Turns out our three miner friends recreated the monster munchies on accident. Frogstool and grass with a whole lot of alcohol. Fed the thing a whole keg of that Wolf drink you told them to get rid of. Bag went all flat and got that look like all monsters do."

A smile bloomed and spread on Crea's face, stretching into a silly look. "You're kidding, right?"

He frowned. "Uh, no… Why?"

Her smile increased. "Seriously?"

Malroth turned to look at her, seeing her eyes glimmer in a strange way. "I don't get it."

Crea giggled. "It's the three little digs and the big bag's Wolf!"

He stared at her, bewildered for a half a second before he sighed deeply. "What is wrong with this island," he groaned. "First the three bars, and now this?"

She didn't stop laughing. And try as he might, he couldn't keep his smile from growing alongside hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~did anybody see the pun coming?~~


	26. The Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth and Crea leave Khrumbul-Dun. And get a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The town and bars murmured with activity all night long, with miners coming and going in and out of the bars in waves like they'd never need to sleep again in their lives. Many of them went to admire Crea's handiwork in the night, which sent more and more of them in staggered groups around the town. In the morning, when the sun returned, it was back to admiring the sparkling goodybag. 

The three digs had intercepted Malroth immediately when he emerged from the house the next morning, pulling him to the crowd to regale the tale of what happened. He was unimpressed that they thought it was worth sharing, but he indulged them anyway, elaborating and exaggerating like any good storyteller. Crea managed to slip away, lingering near the furnaces while she meticulously prepared the glass-based paint according to Ketriel's instructions and guidance while she worked. When she was done, her blasé explanation to the miners who asked about her strange clear bucket caused immediate response. All the miners enthusiastically volunteered to help, flexing and trying to one-up each other, and it wasn't long before there were several smaller buckets being poured to share in small groups. The miners ran off with excitement to paint the gold bar, eager to be able to use the posh place once more. 

Malroth couldn't help but grin at the comradery of the place– the big group projects of their first journey felt like so long ago. It felt familiar, and that was more comforting than he'd felt in a while. A breath of fresh air, despite the searing heat of the midday sun. Except this time, he could help her make the paintbrushes, sneaking sly glances and making Crea laugh in an attempt to slow her down just enough that he could keep up with her manic pace. 

But regardless of how fulfilled it made him feel to be helping her, he still had an odd sensation in his stomach that wouldn't relent. And unbeknownst to them, there was a storm brewing on the horizon.

* * *

Malroth stretched upright, groaning as his hands curled and his skin pulled taut, eventually settling to rest his hands behind his head. He turned, standing a ways away from the city's entrance, seeing Crea waving goodbye at Gemma and Jules and Serge. Jules had returned in the early afternoon once the paint was left to dry, and the whole place cheered as the two goodybags mingled. It was mildly entertaining, if nothing else. And still comical, Malroth thought, how Jules was less than half Gemma's size. And yet, already best of friends. 

"Crea," he called playfully, looking up at the late-afternoon sky. "We're gonna miss the boat!"

She turned, giving him an equally teasing look. "You know Brownbeard won't leave without us."

"He might," he shrugged. "He's left without us plenty of times. For lots of things."

"Even when we specifically asked him to give us a lift today?"

Malroth smirked. "Alright, I'm just trying to shuffle you along so we can get some _alone time_ at home. Can you blame me?"

Crea smiled, but it was somewhat strained. If he hadn't been so familiar with her mannerisms, he would've missed it. "I was going to ask you about that, actually," she said softly.

"About what, going home?"

They settled into a comfortable pace side by side. Malroth saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "I want to go to Moonbrooke."

He fought to keep from growling out loud. "Crea…"

She sighed. "Malroth," she whined, mimicking his tone. "They need help too. It's only fair. If we only expand the sleeping quarters, it'll be fast. No more than a few days."

"Except the King, unlike Saffron, was pretty specific about how many new subjects he's gotten in the last year," he grumbled. "Moonbrooke needs another city more than either of the other two islands combined. Maybe two cities."

Brownbeard's ship came into view around the bend, silence falling between them. Malroth could hear her chewing her lip.

"What?" he asked softly. 

"I just… I really wanna go."

"I know. But I'm still worried about you."

"Yeah, but…" Lines deepened on Crea's face as she concentrated, her voice going quiet. "I thought the past few days would've been calm enough to convince you Ketriel was okay…"

Malroth was surprised at the way his stomach churned at the name. "Something still feels wrong. I don't know what." He was trying to be open minded considering how this fragment of a person had done as he'd asked, but it still hadn't calmed his unease in any way. "I just don't think it's a good idea. I can't explain why."

"Because you hate Moonbrooke, still?" she suggested. "Maybe it has nothing to do with Ketriel."

Chewing his lip, he looked up as the crashing waves caught his attention. It was true he still held the place in contempt, but for as much as he disliked the place, he knew this feeling was incredibly specific about the voice. He couldn't know how, just that it was. "Either way," Malroth grumbled. 

"Hey," she said, turning and firmly taking his hand. He didn't want to look at her eyes, knowing she would eventually wear down his resolve by looks alone, but he couldn't help it. "Do you really think this guy will leave me alone if we just… go on vacation for a week? Or a month? Or a year? I really doubt he'll stop until we help."

"I don't think you're the _only_ person in the world that could help him," he insisted. "That's stupid. If we wait it out, maybe he'll get desperate and move on if he really does need the help."

"And if he doesn't?"

Malroth felt his blood run a little cold at that, as well as the determined look in her eyes at her challenge. If Ketriel didn't leave because they were being too slow, then he would obviously be wanting her for something else. But how patient would he be to reveal that? And how would they, in turn, fight back if he cozied into her mind for a few more months, or even a year? What kinds of things would _that_ affect? He growled without thinking. 

"Exactly," she said, squeezing his hand like it was the end of the discussion. "If we just agree and go, either we'll help and build for several months and train somebody and then go home; or we get the supposed horrible villainous plot out in the open that much faster." Crea sighed. "And then it can be quiet again."

"Then why don't we just go straight to him now?" Malroth demanded. "Why even bother with Moonbrooke at all?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Ketriel said he could wait that long, at least. He wants me to go help Moonbrooke first."

Loud warnings set off in his mind, making his eyes narrow carefully. "I see," he said, clipped. "And just when were you going to tell me that he'd told you that?"

Crea's cheeks turned a slight pink in surprise, her eyes dilating just enough that he realized he'd caught her in something. 

"Crea," he warned, his voice sharp and stinging.

"You were angry at the oasis!" she cried, squeezing his hand in slight alarm. "I was scared and mad, he calmed me down, told me we should go to Moonbrooke beforehand so we could calm down together. I forgot!"

Malroth's hands were clammy, and he pulled his out of her grasp, rubbing it against his jacket to wipe off his sweat. "How could you forget?" he demanded. "You promised me, didn't you?"

Her eyes betrayed her fear, but then it abruptly changed to anger. "Yeah, but then you stopped listening!"

"I never listened to that psycho to begin with!"

"Not him, me! I told you what I was seeing and what he was saying and you lashed out! At _me!_ You think I was going to keep telling you stuff if it was going to end with you shouting?"

Fire welled up in his heart. "So he's been talking to you this whole week? Against what I asked?"

"No!" Crea yelled, exasperated. "Ketriel's been gone! But despite that you _still_ won't believe his good intentions. I know what I saw, Malroth. You're not being fair."

"Hargon wasn't fair either!" he snarled. 

"And this isn't Hargon!" she snapped. "Not every voice is going to blow up the earth, y'know. He believes creation is sacred!"

There she went again, saying things she hadn't mentioned Ketriel saying before. Malroth grit his teeth tightly, his fists balling at his sides. Something was amiss here and he'd be damned if he didn't try to stop it. "We're not going to Moonbrooke," he growled, "and we're not going to help Ketriel."

"Like hell we aren't," Crea scowled. "I wasn't asking your opinion anyway. What else are we gonna do, huh? Sit around and _hope_ he leaves? At least let me be productive while we're waiting."

"You're being stubborn." Malroth could feel his anger bubbling helplessly below the surface– he couldn't let her go by herself. "This is a bad idea and you know it."

"Do I?" she said, her voice biting something back. "Are you _sure?_ Because I think you're just not ready to face the aftermath of what we left behind."

He stared at her coldly. It had a nonzero amount to do with it, it was true. But not anywhere close to how much he wanted to tuck her away in a safety bunker and force Ketriel to leave for good. 

"I'm going now," she declared, spinning on her heel and her pendant swinging in the air. She approached the abashed Brownbeard, eyeing him coolly. "To Moonbrooke."

Brownbeard nodded as she stepped on the boat, and he cast a pleading look to Malroth. He simply groaned in frustration, approaching the awkward captain. 

"A letter for ye," Brownbeard squeaked, handing him an envelope. "Prob'ly one for Miss Crea too. Aye."

Malroth took the envelope, glancing at the familiar handwriting that made him exhale heavily, anger evaporating. 

_Damara._

Walking onto the boat and leaning against the mast, Malroth slid his finger along the folded envelope to reveal the expected– though admittedly thin– dual letters. He cleared his throat after pulling them out, separating and holding Crea's out for her. "You have a letter." He tried to keep his voice steady and calm, only halfway succeeding as he felt his voice shake anyway. "From Damara."

Crea glanced over her shoulder from her typical position at the front of the boat, not even fully turning her body around before sighing and looking back out over sea. "I'll read it later."

Helplessly, Malroth pulled it back to his chest, his blood chilling at her dismissal. Looking down and sinking against the mast to sit, he unfurled his own letter, his heart pounding against his ribs. 

_My dearest little star,  
_ _I have to say it causes me no small amount of concern to have not heard from either you or Crea this week, or the last. I know things can get busy, but may I be too imprudent to ask for a warning? I know firsthand how expertly you two can get into trouble, and your penchant for adventure besides, so this old woman can't help but fuss about you from afar. More so when I don't hear anything. It's all too easy to assume the worst. I suppose if it keeps up I could always drop a visit unannounced to see what's going on for myself.  
_ _That said, it occurs to me that if you are off on an adventure… Forgive if this imagination of mine is too bold or fanciful, but if things are so busy that you cannot or forgot to write, then I wonder if some encouragement would be well-timed. Again, forgive if it's not correct for whatever is presently happening with you.  
_ _In no particular order or importance—_

_–Continue to trust each other. Things may sometimes seem bleak but I know your love and trust in each other can stand all things.  
_ _–Things are always better after a hot meal. Please remember to take care of yourselves.  
_ _–In addition, if ever a problem seems too big to handle, sleep on it. It'll look better in the morning.  
_ _–Be mindful of the solutions you employ. I know you are typically well aware of the consequences of your actions, but stay prepared for unintended consequences. You can use a rabid cat to kill a mouse, but then you still have a rabid cat.  
_ _–Remember who you are._

_My little star. I hope these words are useful to you. I likewise hope you understand that your mother gets worried, adoptive though I may be. I just pray often these days that my son stays safe.  
_ _Anyway. In case I was far off the mark and you're skipping to this point, this week was fine for us here. We decided we needed to name our island in the middle of the bay, rather than keep calling it the island fortress. Garrick had some entertaining suggestions, such as—_

Malroth skimmed the rest of the letter, not even really looking at Aletia's latest news. At the bottom, he found himself staring at her name printed neatly at the end of her words. He felt lost, truthfully. _I wish Damara were here,_ he thought, sighing. _She would know what to do._

Silently, he tore off a strip of the blank paper from the bottom of her letter, retrieving a crayon from Brownbeard and scribbling a brief note. Malroth returned both to the captain for delivery, and drifted in a haze back to sitting against the mast. For a moment he stared into space, not mindful of anything but the gaping feeling in his chest, until he abruptly realized he was staring at Crea's back. He buried his gaze in shame. 

_Well,_ he thought glumly. _We're off to a great start._

* * *

In a circular room, slightly sloped to the middle, Ketriel stood straight in the center of the room, eyes closed. The room was elegant and grand, white with golden motifs, pillars lining the back wall as an uninterrupted curved balcony with symmetrical ramps hugged the front so as to overlook the center of the room. It was like a theater, but without seats, typically used as a thinking room or a brief assembly place. At the sound of footsteps, Ketriel opened his golden eyes, raising them to look to the long open hallway at the back center of the room. 

"Any luck?" the approaching man asked. He stayed respectfully at the back of the hall, clasping his hands behind his back. 

Ketriel shook his head. "No. Wherever she is, I cannot reach her."

The man deflated slightly. "It's been weeks since she disappeared. Surely things will fall apart soon if she does not return."

"Surely," Ketriel agreed. "Which is why I have chosen a replacement."

"A replacement? For—" The man swallowed harshly, paling. "How can we accomplish such a task?"

"For your part? You need do nothing," Ketriel assured. "It is my duty as her assistant that I will bring a suitable candidate to take to her place. Such is the sacred order. As such, I have located a Master Builder to take her stead. It has taken some time, but she believes my cause. I do not think it long before she arrives to offer her assistance."

The man looked relieved. "Thanks be for the order. Will you cease searching then, with a replacement already chosen?"

"I should think so. If she ever does return, then she can sort out fixing it." Ketriel sniffed. "Although if this Builder's partner continues to get in my way, it may take slightly longer than I hoped. He's quite distrusting."

"Surely he can be convinced too." The man gave a shaky smile.

Ketriel nodded, his eyes glowing as he focused once more. "If not, he will have no choice."


	27. The Return to Moonbrooke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they have a warm welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general warning: contains some questionable sexual humor. (it's supposed to be awkward.)

It was a long ride in silence. Brownbeard wisely kept his distance at the back of the boat as the two of them likewise evaded each other. The two of them grappled with their own feelings and gut reactions, keeping them under wraps from each other so as not to widen the lengthy divide they already felt between them.

Not that it helped much. 

Still, it started to rain around the halfway point between the two islands. Crea was kind enough to silently hand umbrellas to both Malroth and Brownbeard, though she cautiously took her place near the bow while nervously fidgeting with the handle as she scoped the horizon. It took Malroth an embarrassingly long time to figure out why though, which immediately made his stomach clench uncomfortably. Sighing, he stood from his spot beneath the mast, tentatively approaching behind her. Crea turned suddenly to see him when she heard his footsteps, and her expression reflected fear and surprise. Malroth kept his gaze forward, trying not to make it worse.

"Let me guess," he muttered softly. "Skelkatraz?"

She nodded, eyes beginning to roam over the horizon once more. "I can count on one hand the number of times we've sailed in rain since that day," she murmured.

Malroth nodded. He wanted to remark about Molly living on the Isle now, or how they had gone back and personally liberated the place after they found her aboard the arc with the other Malhalla monsters. But his mouth refused to move.

So they simply stood in silence for a while, watching the rain eerily fall around them as far as they could see. The sea was mercifully smooth despite the rain, and the lack of fog meant they could still see far enough to ease their fears about running into another slave ship. Not that there had been any reported slave ships since after they returned from Malhalla. Hell, there hadn't been any monster ship sightings since then, slave or otherwise. And yet their wariness remained. Some things never faded, Malroth supposed.

"I think that's the only place I've felt like deserved to be destroyed," Crea eventually murmured.

Malroth nodded slowly, still not brave enough to look at her yet. "Not even Moonbrooke?" he asked softly.

Out of the corner of his eye, she merely shrugged. "It wouldn't have helped anything, right? Unlike _that_ place."

He couldn't argue with that. 

The weather ultimately changed from soft rain to gentle snow, eerily floating above the water before melting directly on the surface. Malroth felt his blood run cold as the wintery island of Moonbrooke came into view. They hadn't been back since the disastrous way they'd left more than a year ago. It was unfair, he knew, for it to be colored so poorly in his memories considering he'd been on the way to losing his sanity towards the end of their stay. He still didn't remember the entire boat ride home since his eyesight had been constantly fading in and out as Hargon had continued to whisper to him and tried to beguile his mind. But regardless of all that, he still didn't like the paranoia and inability to trust that permeated the place. Malroth hoped it would be at least a little bit better now that the war was over. He shivered as he watched the island draw ever closer. He didn't have much confidence either way.

Crea glanced at him warily before turning her attention back to the island, her arms tightly folded across her chest. "Are you cold," she asked, her question neutral and expressionless.

Vague tension pressed against his mind, but he didn't want to start another fight. Not after the long day it had already been. Malroth rubbed his arms, feeling the more pronounced coldness at his chest. "Only a little," he admitted quietly. "Though… I don't remember it being so cold last time."

Her eyes didn't move from the island as wisps of warm air became ghosts from her nose. "You probably had help with that, last time."

Malroth sighed, producing a large cloud of his own. Yes, Hargon had done a lot to ensure his vessel's survival, providing "food" in Skelkatraz and likely not freezing to death here. Right up until the end, anyway, where he was always meant to be expendable. He shivered again, though this time wasn't from the cold. 

"I'll make you a shirt," Crea murmured, "to wear under your jacket. I'd… rather not have a popsicle for a partner."

He knew he should laugh to at least _try_ to break the tension, but he couldn't bring himself to do it yet. Instead, he could only manage a strained smile, which in all honesty felt more like a grimace. If she noticed, she didn't comment. 

Brownbeard pulled the ship up to the dock in silence, not even wishing them well as they walked onto the pier. Crea wordlessly began the trek up the mountain path, Malroth close behind her. Nervousness grabbed at his stomach as they trudged through the snow and into the damp tunnel. He couldn't help but feel anxious about this place, irrational thoughts going through his mind about what would await them. Or even _who_ might await them.

Truthfully, it left his stomach unsettled and woozy. He really tried not to wonder how things might've changed in the last year and some, but despite his best efforts he could mostly only think of the people and wonder how they might react to him now. There were vague things he remembered from the last time, of course– subtle fear of his appearance, for one thing, and a much more obvious fear of his obsession and propensity for battle, for another. Both things that had proved part of his undoing, in the end. Certainly the Moonbrookians on the Isle had overcome their prejudices of him, but here…?

Malroth sighed, looking up as they passed beneath the reconstructed archway and up at the silent and looming Kazapple cannon. He could only hope they would give him another chance. Or if not another chance to prove himself, at least a chance to redeem himself. Just like he had fought alongside them to help defeat Atlas before they left the last time. At the very least, he hoped they wouldn't treat him so oddly this time around. Or be so damn ridiculous in general.

They traveled behind the cannon, approaching the top of the switchback path. On the breeze, Malroth could hear a horribly out-of-tune lyre accompanied by a shrill warble. He grimaced. Maybe hoping for Moonbrooke to be even a _little_ less ridiculous was a bit of a stretch.

"Is that Haydin?" Crea murmured, her face scrunching in disgust.

Malroth snorted. "Some things never change, I guess."

"No wonder Gerome forced him to move back here. I would've done the same if I had to hear that every day."

"So, now that you're going to hear it every day, are we sending him on vacation to the Isle?"

Crea simply rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"Advance the guard!"

The two of them stopped at the new voice, looking further into the castle as they did. They'd barely gotten to the top of the stairs of the cliff as it was– truthfully it made Malroth nervous to see so many armored guards approaching within seconds of arrival. He struggled to settle his mind, trying not to give in to his instinct to simultaneously fight and flee as they stopped in front of them, the obvious leader stepping forward in greeting. The man had a Roman-style helmet almost identical to Anessa's old one, but his helmet had black plumage rather than red. His outfit was more befitting of a standard rank-and-file soldier, but it still gleamed brightly against his dark skin, likewise in nice contrast to the red accents on his garb. He looked impressive, if nothing else. 

"Hail, builder!" he saluted, raising his hand sharply to his forehead. "We have been anticipating your arrival."

Crea saluted lazily in return. "Not for long, I hope."

"Nay, merely since your mast appeared on yonder horizon. The King will be expecting you before you retire."

Malroth tried hard to contain his fidgeting at that. _Is that normal?_ he wondered. He mentally slapped himself, sighing. _Man, pull yourself together! He probably just wants to say hi. Probably._

Crea nodded. "Alright. Lead on, soldier. We're exhausted, so the sooner we get to bed, the better."

"Understood, Lady Crea. Please, this way."

The group followed the new general, as Malroth supposed he was, flanked by ten guards. They shepherded them through the castle's back door, passing through the main hallways and past newly constructed rooms before winding up at the giant throne room doors and entering inside. Malroth couldn't help but feel they were not simply escorting them, but… ensuring they wouldn't cause trouble, maybe? He bit back a growl, coughing instead. This place was still nerve wracking. Ahead, he could see the King on his throne, observing them eagerly with a wide smile. Malroth shuddered. 

"The general of the Moonbrooke Brigade of Guards presents the builder Crea to his majesty, the King," the general said, stopping a few feet in front of the throne. The entourage mirrored him, likewise stopping around them.

Malroth felt his blood freeze as everything turned its attention to the King. _Did they not announce me on purpose?_

"Crea, my girl!" the King laughed loudly, breaking Malroth from his thoughts. "It is a delight to see you and to have you with us once again."

Crea smiled, though Malroth thought he was probably the only one who noticed her strain. "Yeah. Uh, you too. Sorry if I'm not more enthusiastic, it was a long boat ride and we're a bit tired."

"It is understandable and forgivable," the King nodded. "I merely hoped to greet you and extend the warmth of Moonbrooke to you once more. It's been some time!"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking more and more tired by the second. "It has."

"We shall have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow. However, for now I'll have Bishop"–he motioned to the new general from before–"escort you to your room and see to it that you're settled for tonight. If you have need for anything, do not hesitate to ask him. You are our guest, and he will see to it that you are taken care of."

Crea nodded again, swallowing thickly. "And Malroth?" she asked. 

The King blinked, as though recognizing his presence for the first time. "Ah yes," he said, though half as warm from seconds ago. "We've taken the liberty of setting aside a bed in the barracks for him, so he won't be sleeping on the ground if that's your concern."

 _Barracks? Like where all the soldiers can keep an eye on me, you mean?_ Malroth bristled. _Typical._

Crea pursed her lips. "I think you mean he'll be staying with me."

Malroth felt a strange feeling in his chest at that, both relief that he wouldn't be separated from her and discomfort of having to share a space with her so soon after their fight. That, and he hated that she had to stand up for him so soon after getting here. He still didn't have a voice, it seemed. The last time had been similar, her alone just trying to convince the whole castle that he wasn't as dangerous as it seemed. 

Not that it'd helped very much, if at all.

The King blinked at her demand. "I beg your pardon?"

"He's staying with me," she said tersely, emphasizing her words. "I don't sleep as well as I used to, and less so when he's not in bed with me and shoved up my ass."

Malroth felt his ears go red at her bold declaration, even if he knew she was just trying to get out of the conversation. It wasn't the first time they'd admitted to sharing a bed, or sleeping together, but the King obviously found her crassness distasteful, the smile fading from his features in record time. 

"I see," the King said curtly. "Very well. I'm told that room would be a bit cramped with any bigger of a bed, but I suppose that if you can fit one in there, you're welcome to do as you like."

"Good." Crea smirked mischievously. "Would you say marble is soundproof?"

Malroth felt his face go quite hot, stifling a choking sound. Of all of the islands, she had to go and joke about that on _this_ one. _Typical…_

The King looked at her impassively, clearly unimpressed. "Any further questions you can discuss with Bishop. You are dismissed."

Bishop took a step forward, motioning for them to take the side door near the throne. They followed, the entourage of the guard remaining in the throne room, leaving the three of them to exit alone through the door next to the builder's bell. Malroth couldn't help but exhale heavily outside of the stale throne room air. 

"So where are we staying?" Crea asked, abruptly abandoning her crude demeanor.

Bishop motioned with his head at the southern door, not reacting at all to her change. "We have repurposed the previous war room that was situated next to the potato patch."

"Previous?" Crea echoed. 

"Indeed," Bishop said, pushing the door open. "It was getting too small for our operations considering the conflict with the mountain rebellion."

"What?" Malroth couldn't help but let the question roll off his tongue.

Bishop sighed. "The war was won before you left, it is true. But not all monsters chose to believe it, and a large number of them continued to pressure the castle. It has been more of an irritant and annoyance rather than a major conflict since the traps you developed are still in working order, and that staves off much of the attacks. Plus, with Atlas gone, they lack refinement and leadership. But it is still unsafe around the countryside, making resettlement elsewhere largely impossible."

Crea scoffed, rolling her shoulders and neck like she was preparing for a fight. "That sounds like an easy fix."

"You would think so," Bishop agreed, pressing the bedroom door open. "But they've wisely holed up in the mountain fortress. Whatever monsters they've recruited to shield them in a perpetual ice storm is doing an exceptional job of it."

Entering the room, Malroth immediately thought it too fancy for his taste. There was a single bed in the center of the back wall with tall posts on each corner, a canopy placed on top between them. It was obviously meant for one person. Despite that, there was a nightstand on both sides, and a thick wardrobe in each of the corners beside those. Malroth wasn't sure how they'd fit a bigger bed among all that. An open door to the right led to an extravagant bathroom from what he could tell, and a fireplace crackled happily on his left. Idly, he wondered if the gold motif in the carpet was real. 

"Well there's your problem," Crea muttered, eyeing the wardrobes. "Fat furniture. And even then it's arranged poorly. I could fit three of those beds in here with full functionality including both wardrobes."

"Do as you like," Bishop said, nonchalantly waving his hand. "I shan't stop you. My quarters are around the corner at the first available door; do not hesitate to fetch me as necessary."

The general left without another word, shutting the door behind him. Malroth flinched as it latched shut, hesitantly breathing. Crea sighed and he looked up, seeing her stare resolutely at the furniture setup, probably thinking how best to optimize the space. Awkwardly he turned to the fire, deciding to maybe sit on the floor while he waited for a place to sleep.

"It's uncomfortable, isn't it?"

Malroth looked back at Crea, who hadn't moved. He hesitated. "What is?"

"Being here," she said again, dropping her arms to her side. "I… I forgot."

He nodded dumbly. "Yeah," he said, his voice accidentally sounding more strained than he intended to let on. 

She brought a hand up to her elbow, rubbing it as she sighed. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I…"

But her sentence trailed off to nowhere. From what little he could see of her face, she looked embarrassed, vacant, struggling with something. Malroth inhaled carefully. "Do you actually think we can fit a bigger bed in here?" he asked quietly, trying to change the subject. She scoffed, her trance breaking.

"Easily. Who needs two ginormous wardrobes like this, anyway? Even with every piece of clothing we own, I don't think we'd fill even one of them. It's excessive for both of us to have a huge wardrobe to ourselves." Crea walked to the corner nearest the fireplace, gesturing to the wardrobe with her bag. "Look, I just freaking remove this one thing and bam. Enough space." Magic disappeared the offending furniture into her bag and she slid the nightstand into the corner, leaving several feet next to the edge of the single bed. She replaced the bed with a much larger one, its comforters and sheets calling Malroth's name. He watched her carefully again, seeing her normal confidence where it belonged. 

He hesitated. "So…"

Crea turned. Malroth blushed. 

"Shoved up your ass…?"

Crea's mouth split into a grin and she laughed uproariously. It weirdly brought him relief. 

"Oh Goddess, did you see the look on his face?" She continued to laugh, making him relax even further. "Oh my gosh, if I'd known _that_ was how to get that long-winded gasbag to give me peace, I would've let you pin me to the wall so much sooner."

Malroth chuckled, tension fading from his shoulders. "Not like you would've slept much anyway back then."

"Oh I know," Crea grimaced, rolling her eyes. "Geez. Making traps upon traps, quarrying marble five days a week, forging swords at all hours of the night… ugh. No wonder we hated this place, we were so sleep deprived it was insane."

"Among other things." The words had slipped from his mouth from before he could stop them. 

Her smile faded completely. "Well… yeah." She sighed. "That's true."

Malroth desperately craved the lightheartedness and her smile, so he rushed forward without another thought, playfully tackling Crea onto the large bed. He pretended to growl and make loud biting motions towards her neck, making her squeal in surprised laughter. Stopping after a moment, he grinned as he watched her giggle, feeling his heart swell with hope. They would be fine. They had to be.

In the meantime, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, signaling the late hour and their need for sleep. Malroth wasn't sure when her last good night of sleep had been, but he could at least make sure she got one now. 

"I vote we sleep in," he said. "You look like you need a nap or seven."

Crea snorted. "You think they'll let us?"

"Maybe." Malroth shrugged. "But I bet if I answer the door naked and hard, they'll never send anybody to wake us for the entire rest of our stay. Or doubt what you said what you needed me for."

"You're just as bad as me," she laughed. "And yet… it does sound at least a little appealing."

"Them not waking us up stupid early, or me naked and hard?"

Crea laughed, playfully rolling her eyes and smacking his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~wow this chapter got long~~
> 
> alright folks, Moonbrooke for 18 chapters. who's ready??


	28. The Council of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea gets mad, Malroth turns heads, and they get the lay of the land.

Fortunately, Malroth didn't end up needing to chase away any morning visitors, as the castle seemed to likewise agree that its guests needed rest. And rest they did, sleeping curled up under a mountain of blankets to stave off the cold. At least until Malroth finally woke up sometime in midmorning, shivering with chattering teeth. The fireplace had gone as cold as the room, and he hissed as his bare feet hit the stone floor and with each subsequent step after, hurriedly building another fire within. When he was satisfied it would last another few hours, Malroth almost ran back to the bed, diving in under the blankets. He sighed in relief as Crea yawned, rolling to face him. 

"Thanks," she murmured with a drowsy smile. 

He grumbled. "I should stick my feet on your back as payment for doing that. It's freezing!"

Crea's smile didn't fade or change. "Remind me tonight to help with that. Should've built a space heater last night is what I should've done. Not that I have a workbench in here."

"Right, cos you don't have a travel workbench in your bag or anything," he snarked. He was beginning to feel his toes again. 

"Totally not. Guess we're screwed," she teased. "Oh, remind me about your shirt later too, after we get up. I don't want you getting sick."

Malroth nodded, hearing people outside in the hallway for a brief moment. They didn't sound like they were staying though; just passing by to the potato patch, probably. Hopefully.

Crea groaned as she stretched, arms curled above her head. "How late is it, anyway?"

A knock on the door startled them both, and Malroth audibly groaned. Apparently they weren't passing to get to the potatoes after all.

"I got it," Crea grumbled, shifting and scooting until she could swing her feet out of bed and onto the floor. "It's only fair." Malroth pressed his feet where her body had been, shivering in relief while she pulled open the door, cold air from the hallway rushing in.

"Good morning, Lady Crea," Bishop saluted. "I hope you found the rest you sought."

"Well enough," she said, leaning against the door. "Got colder than I remembered."

"That would be due to the increase of ice storms up in the mountains, I'm afraid. Which brings me to the point of my intrusion: the King has requested a war council now that you're here. He hopes to put a stop to this monster rebellion soon so that the rebuilding around the island can begin in earnest."

Crea nodded, sighing. "Makes sense. I have some personal building projects to take care of when we're done though, so I hope this is the only commitment you have planned for me today."

Bishop bowed politely. "I wouldn't know for certain. Unless the King has a special request, I would think you would be correct in your free evening."

"He'd better not," she grumbled. 

Bishop didn't react like he'd heard at all. "As I mentioned yesterday, the previous war room was too small to accommodate all necessary parties. However, we appear to lack the skill and foresight to decide a different location and size. As such, we have temporarily moved operations within the throne room."

"Snazzy."

"Eventually we would appreciate a fixed location, but as you said you are busy, I shall wait to give my formal request until a later date."

"Great, thanks," she sighed in relief. "When's the meeting?"

"In an hour, Lady Crea."

She nodded. "Okay. Plan on us."

Bishop saluted stiffly. "I look forward to your presence, my lady." He turned abruptly, disappearing around the corner of the hallway. 

Crea shut the door, shivering and grumbling as she hurried back to the warmth of the bed. 

"See?" Malroth ribbed as she settled in. "Cold!"

"Shut up," she murmured, wrapping her arm around his waist and snuggling closely. She had to resist the urge to set her feet between his legs. "We just need rugs. And a space heater. And an electric blanket maybe?"

"Oh yeah, let me just find an outlet for that."

She snickered, playfully pushing his shoulder in jest. "Shut up."

It wasn't long until they and the room warmed up again, the fire bringing much needed heat to the frigid stone and marble that allowed them to adventure out of bed without worrying about their toes on the floor. They took turns for a shower, Malroth sticking out his tongue in distaste at the overwhelming fanciness of the whole bathroom. Crea whipped up a thick, long-sleeved, black fleece shirt for him when he was done, and he gratefully slid it over his bare torso with a shiver. He tucked it beneath his belt and wore his jacket over the top, confident now he wouldn't freeze. All prepared, they left and went for the throne room. 

The two of them returned through the door in which they left the night before, seeing the large emblematic table situated right in front of the King's throne, as well as several other people they didn't recognize gathered around the sides. The King himself was staring in concentration at the large map, small pieces placed on top like some bizarre game of chess. Bishop stood to his right, turning when he heard the two of them enter and saluted.

"Greetings, Builder, and her companion. We're honored you could come."

Crea nodded in response, coming to stand on Bishop's right. Malroth followed to her right as well, repressing the urge to roll his eyes when the soldier next to him shuffled a little further away.  _ At least someone said hi to me this time,  _ he thought glumly.

"Now that everyone is accounted for, we may begin. Your majesty?" Bishop bowed his head.

"Thank you." The King nodded. "As you all well know, we are gathered today to discuss and find a solution relating to the impenetrable monster fortress tucked away in the mountains. As the Builder Crea has now joined us, I have asked Marissa to give a brief overview of the situation to catch her up to speed. I have full confidence the return of the builder will aid us in our mission for peace." 

Malroth's eyes traveled around the table as the King motioned to a stern-looking woman across from them. Everyone looked so serious, he thought. A far cry from the supposed carefree peace they had left them in. Of course, he wasn't sure how many of them were actually concentrating on the map or simply trying to avoid his eyes.

"Right," Marissa said, straightening her posture and pointing at the two largest pawns on the map. "Moonbrooke is here. The fortress is here." She continued to point around at other areas of the map as she spoke. "The only safe route to the monster's fortress is through the mountain pass here, accessible from the eastern route past old Moonahan. However, the pass is inaccessible due to the inordinate number of blizzards and ice storms of late. As such, we've been unable to breach even the mountain to get this irritation to cease."

"Same as last time, yeah," Crea grumbled, then raised her voice to the rest of the table. "Well why don't you just let me and Malroth go clear them out?"

"And risk the only Master Builder in the Four Islands??" the King scoffed. "Absolutely not. This is Moonbrooke's fight and we shall fight it! The task of  _ building _ is your responsibility."

Crea scowled under her breath. 

"All attempts to reason with them have also failed," Marissa added. "Whether or not they can conquer Moonbrooke is unclear, but it seems increasingly unlikely given their lack of strength as well as their lack of a commander, supposedly. However, we are still at threat given the number of storms of late, and the need for resettlement is climbing due to the increase in survivors seeking refuge from the harsh winter storms."

The King nodded. "Thank you. The floor is now open to discuss suggestions to evict these vermin."

In the following seconds of silence, Malroth smoothed his thumb over his lip in concentration, staring quietly at the map. Crea rolled her eyes at his side.

"No, seriously, Malroth and I can just go up there and wipe them out. Easy peasy."

"I shall not tolerate that again, Lady Crea," the King warned. "I said no."

"You sent us up there last time with Warwick! And it only took the three of us to take out all of the monsters  _ and _ the troll that lived there. Big whoop."

The King turned pink at the mention of his former subject.  _ "No. _ You will build, and that is final."

Crea rolled her eyes again. "Then why don't I just go out and build those towns you need while  _ you _ figure out the monsters?"

Bishop coughed politely. "We have attempted to resettle at Moonahan again, but the monster attacks were too frequent to make much progress building anything. We also attempted to build further away, like at Moonport— that's down by where the monster ship used to be docked, you know the place— but the attacks there were also too frequent." The general shrugged. "I assure you we did try before writing you for aid, but we seem to be stuck without your insight."

Crea sighed, annoyed, shrugging in defeat. "So we can't build, and we can't fight. What do you expect us to do?"

"What if we drew them out?"

All heads turned at Malroth's question to stare at him. He kept his head down, deliberately keeping his eyes on the center of the map, still nervously smoothing his thumb over his lip. 

"Draw them out you say?" the King asked, quiet and hesitant.

Malroth nodded. "You said they love attacking humans, especially where rebuilding is concerned. What if we mounted a big expedition or something to rebuild Moonahan? If it's like you say, it'll draw a lot of the monsters out of protection for as many humans are out and about. Then we could fend them off to get a feel for the numbers and strength, or completely eradicate them if they're stupid and we're lucky."

The others at the table exchanged nervous glances. Bishop looked thoughtful. "I have to say I'm intrigued by the idea. But why only to get a feel for their strength?"

"Well you said you didn't know all of what was up there," Malroth explained. "It's likely the ones that're bored that'll come down and fight. It'll be a wide variety of strengths most likely, and once they realize we're putting up a fight they'll put in more effort after that."

"More effort?" the King wondered aloud. "You don't suppose they'll come in endless waves like with the three Forces like last time?"

Malroth shook his head. "Most monsters in general aren't that smart, and monsters without a commander even less so. They don't deserve that much credit."

"Aye, you'd know, wouldja?" muttered a scruffy man at the far end of the table. "You basically were a monster, last time you were here."

"How dare you!" Crea snapped, slamming her open palms against the table which made everyone jump, other than Malroth who merely sighed. "Malroth is  _ not _ a monster, and I have half a mind to break down every wall of this castle for such an insult!"

"Crea," Malroth said quietly, reaching out to gently take hold on her elbow. "It's fine. Relax." Thankfully she responded silently, shoulders rolling back as she slumped down to a normal posture, though still shooting daggers from her eyes at the scruffy man.

Now was not the time, nor place. They needed to be calm– and as much as he hated it, they looked to her for guidance. If she panicked or got aggressive, the rest of them would too. Or worse.

Malroth took a breath, trying to sound as calm and steady as he was able. "Yes, I was off last time, you don't have to remind me. But last time I was also in significant pain from an infection and that made me erratic. Fighting was the only way for me to direct that pain out of me, so it got out of hand." He swallowed, raising his head to look directly at the scruffy man. His voice was low as he added, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

There were more nervous glances from around the table as well as an embarrassed blush of red from the scruffy man as he avoided Malroth's eyes. Bishop cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.

"Very well," he said, his voice even and calm as though nothing had just happened. "The King and I shall continue to weigh our options. We shall inform you all when a decision has been made. All dismissed."

Crea immediately turned on her heel, seething as she made for the door. Malroth hurriedly followed, grabbing her hand once they made it into the bell chamber. Her head whipped to face him, biting back a growl. 

"Crea? What's wrong?" he whispered. "Why are you so mad?"

"They should listen to me," she growled. "Shouldn't they? I'm a Master Builder after all. I've been all over these islands, you and I could take down any number of monsters, I know our limits. They're just  _ afraid _ of what we can do…"

"What are you talking about?" he scowled, shaking his head. "They live here, and as much as I don't like to admit it, they know more than we do about this whole mess."

"Didn't sound like they knew much at all back there," she grumbled under her breath.

Malroth pursed his lips, ignoring her comment. "And anyway, we're all human. Just because you're a builder doesn't mean it makes you automatically better at  _ everything." _

She pulled her hand from his grasp, staring at him incredulously. "You too? You want to take their side?"

"No!" Malroth cried. "I'm not taking sides! We just need to be careful, that's all. Things are still uneven around here so we need to be cautious."

Crea watched him carefully for a long moment, eyes narrowed as she rubbed her hand. "Fine," she muttered. "But they can't keep me from fighting."

She turned and left before he could say anything else, leaving him to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. 


	29. The General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth gets more acquainted with Bishop. With tea.

Malroth entered the bedroom to find Crea already sitting on the floor and surrounded by various odds and ends as well as her book. She would build a little before leaning down to sketch something, her gaze already frustrated. Whether it was because of the war meeting or because her creations weren't cooperating, he didn't know. And presently, he didn't care to find out.

Wandering over to the bed, Malroth leaned against it while he stared at the fire. He had a quaint image come to his mind– two plush chairs facing the fireplace, separated only by a small shared table. He hummed.  _ That sounds nice.  _

Standing up straight, he hesitated a moment when he saw Crea, her eyebrows scrunched together as she focused on her task. He could only hope he wouldn't be intruding too hard. "Hey Crea?" he asked softly, timing his request when she put down one project to pick up another. 

"Hm?" She grunted, not looking up.

"Can I have some wood?"

She paused, staring off into space for a second as she processed his request before looking at him. "Why?"

Embarrassment crept at his cheeks but he tried to ignore it. "I want to build us some chairs. So we can sit in front of the fireplace."

Her eyes flickered from him to the area in question. "I can do it," Crea huffed, pulling wood and cotton from her bag.

Malroth blinked. "I mean, I can do it too. I know how, and I don't want to distract you from your other projects or anything—"

"I said I'll do it," she insisted. Already she had finished assembling half of a frame for one of the chairs.

He frowned. "But I can—"

"Yours wouldn't be as good as mine!" she snapped, not even looking up as she set down one half-finished chair while beginning on the other.

Malroth felt the air deflate from his lungs, though his jaw mercifully stayed closed to keep from releasing his breath all at once. Instead, his eyes were wide as he merely stared, watching the wingback chairs come into shape within minutes. 

Once done, Crea set them next to her, already turning back to her other projects.

He stared dumbly at them for a long time, trying to will himself to do anything to keep from focusing on the sinking pit in his stomach. His mouth felt full of ash as he swallowed, but he finally stepped forward to grab one to put them in their place. "Thank you," he murmured. "I know you're busy, so… thanks."

She grunted in affirmation, and he knew that was as good as he'd get out of a building trance. Silently Malroth moved both chairs next to the fireplace, collapsing onto it and slouching down when he was done. All the while, Crea continued to work.  _ Guess I'm done building for a while, _ he thought glumly.

It was quiet between them for the rest of the afternoon. Malroth stayed slumped in his chair staring at the fire, doing his best to stay out of her way as completely as possible as well as hide his growing self-doubt. Not that it was difficult to stay away, given that Crea kept herself busy in her building frenzy, creating all sorts of things to help keep the room warm at night. Eventually Damara's letter sat open in his lap, and he glanced at it occasionally to try to glean comfort and support. Even Damara's conviction that their trust was unshakable didn't seem to reach his heart. If only he could believe the words just by staring at the page, he mused. 

A knock on the door in the evening broke both of them from their thoughts, making Malroth instinctively sigh and look at Crea. She simply rolled her eyes at the door and turned back to her project. Forcing himself to his feet and leaving the letter on the end table, Malroth steeled himself as he approached the door. 

"If they're looking for me, I'm busy," Crea grumbled. 

He nodded absentmindedly and then pulled the heavy door open. Surprise colored his own face as Bishop stood by the doorway, currently favoring regular clothing instead of his intricate armor from earlier. Malroth knew he ought to say something, but confusion kept him frozen.

Bishop smiled, either oblivious to or outright ignoring his discomfort. "Ah, Lord Malroth, just the man I wanted to see. May I borrow you for but a moment?"

He cringed at the title, but before he could comment Crea was already shouting from further inside the room. 

"If you're planning on pulling him aside just so you can tell him about how much of a monster he is, you better keep walking!"

Bishop frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "No Lady Crea, I assure you that is not my intent," he called. "I simply mean to ask Lord Malroth further questions concerning his plan he presented this afternoon. He has remarkable insight. Is this acceptable?"

"Why've you gotta borrow him?" she shot back. "Can't you just do it here?"

The hesitation on his face was clear, making it obvious he very much did not want to do that. Malroth cleared his throat. "You're building, Crea. You know you'd get annoyed if we stayed and distracted you."

A few long seconds of silence followed. Then she said, "Fine. But if I find out you got threatened or put in jail, I'm breaking every head I see on the way to breaking the door down."

"Many thanks, Lady Crea," Bishop said, his voice dripping with enthusiasm and posture relaxing as he ignored her threat. "I can assure you he will be returned in one piece, and very much unscathed. Both physically and otherwise."

After Crea grunted her approval, Malroth nodded and stepped out into the hallway. When the door was closed behind him he took a breath as though to speak, but Bishop interrupted with a raised hand to silence him, then motioned to follow. Around the corner and on the first left between the two sets of staircases, Bishop pushed a door open, silently ushering him inside. Malroth ducked into the cozy room, warm from a steady fire in the fireplace, and inviting from the warm, neutral colors. Malroth heard the door squeaking, and he turned to see Bishop closing the door behind him. The general sighed, leaning against the door once it was shut. 

"Apologies, Lord," he said. "I did not deem it wise to speak where we could be overheard."

"Is that a problem still?" Malroth asked, though his tone suggested a little more stiffness to the question than he intended. 

"More a habit I can't shake, at this point," he admitted, standing upright and motioning to the chairs nearby, huddled around the fireplace. "Please, Lord Malroth, take a seat."

He stuck his tongue out before he could stop himself, making a dissatisfied noise. "Please stop calling me that."

Bishop blinked. "Sir, then?"

_ "No." _ He shook his head. "Just Malroth."

"Very well, Malroth. May I offer you some tea? Or ale, perhaps?"

"Whatever you're having," Malroth said, sitting stiffly on the chair closest to the door. He bristled once he realized what he was doing, trying to position himself in case he needed a quick exit.  _ Goddess, this place makes me so damn paranoid, _ he thought, annoyed with himself.  _ What's he gonna do, poison me? Trap me? After all of Crea's threats? I hate this place. _

Bishop nodded, moving silently around the room while gathering what he needed. After preparing the tea bags in silence he retrieved a kettle from the fire, pouring boiling water into the cups that produced an earthy smell that filled the room. He smiled politely, handing Malroth a cup. 

Malroth took it, nodding in thanks before eyeing it carefully as he fidgeted with the tea bag. Bishop simply chuckled. 

"Still paranoid as ever, I see."

"You make it sound like it was undeserved," Malroth said tersely, his voice defensively clipped. 

Bishop sighed, taking a long sip of his tea before answering. "No. You're right of course. There were many things we handled poorly back then."

Malroth stared at his cup uncomfortably, wondering just what the point of all this was. 

"Though I must say, the King and I were quite impressed with your suggestions at the meeting today," he continued. "I believe the King is reviewing some smaller details with his advisory, but I think it's the direction we're likely to take."

"Bishop," Malroth interrupted, lowering his hand to set his cup in his lap as he turned his unflinching gaze to stare at him. "Why am I here? What do you want?"

The general took several measured breaths, as though pondering his question. Then, taking a sip of tea, he took his own large breath. "The King has concerns."

"About me?" he growled.

Bishop shook his head. "Crea."

Malroth felt his heart stutter, much of his silent resentment evaporating to expose his concern. "What about her?"

"Many things, though at present minor. Her threat to break down Moonbrooke's walls was significant, given I did not think it a worthy endeavor with which to counterattack merely an  _ insult. _ It seemed extreme; very unlike her."

"We both didn't exactly have the most pleasant of experiences when we were here last," Malroth grumbled, frustration returning as he fussed with his tea. 

Bishop seemed to consider that a moment. "I know," he said finally. "But her increase in visible aggression is… startling. I am aware she can fight as well as the next soldier, as I witnessed for myself the last time I was under her command. But outside of battle she was almost meek." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Did something happen?"

Malroth chewed his lip.  _ Ketriel happened. Well… is happening. I think.  _ But he couldn't well say that. "We've talked a lot about what happened," he mumbled, staring down at his tea. "About when we were here last. There were complications, like I said at the meeting."  _ Hargon. _ "She was upset with herself for a long time about how she did things. Kept telling herself what she should've done differently." He shrugged, trying to stay vague and nonchalant. "I'm paranoid, she's aggressive. It's how we're coping at the moment."

Bishop nodded with understanding. "I see. I'm sorry, then. That our stubborn war caused you so much heartache of your own."

"Sorry doesn't fix it," he mumbled before he could stop himself. He shook his head. "I mean, that's what war does, right? Something was gonna break."

"It shouldn't have been you two," Bishop sighed, his voice trailing away.

Malroth looked up at the following silence, catching the general's wistful stare at the floor with glassy eyes. It wasn't the expression he expected to find. "What do you mean?"

"To suffer for  _ our  _ war?" he asked, his voice firm but not loud. "The war that we for generations have raised our children to extend? That we taught each other peace was a myth, convinced ourselves destruction was right and just, and now to bear the lasting trauma of our forefathers now that peace is truly within our grasp?" Bishop shook his head. "No, Malroth. We find ourselves in a different war, now. One inside. One that I had hoped you would be spared." He sighed again, slumping his shoulders and looking like he aged twenty years with the motion. 

Malroth was startled by the speech, leaving him frozen and blinking as the rest of his own emotions simply evaporated. It was moving, for some reason. It made him appreciate Bishop's stoicism, knowing he carried such heavy thoughts. That he wouldn't allow it to let it influence anyone else, and to physically be the break in the chains of Hargon's teachings. And yet, it was certainly isolating and difficult, too. Malroth himself knew of those sorts of hardships, having to deal with the aftermath of Hargon on his own.

Malroth inhaled slowly. "Can I tell you something?" he asked softly. "About— About last time we were here."

Bishop raised his head to meet his eyes, curiosity brimming. "What about? I was here, as you recall."

"About us," he clarified. "About… me. Can you swear not to tell anyone? Especially the King?"

Bishop nodded solemnly. "I swear by it," he said. "I am honored with your trust."

Malroth sighed, feeling his heart in his throat, his voice getting more and more somber. "It wasn't an infection that drove me crazy, last time. It was a parasite. An entity in my mind."

"In your  _ mind?" _ he echoed softly. His eyes were wide, but there was no judgment in his expression. 

Malroth nodded. "He drove me to violence, to destruction. I think it was Anessa who said once that I thoroughly embodied the Children of Hargon's teachings. Turns out there was a good reason for that, since it was Hargon himself who latched onto my soul."

"Goddess," Bishop whispered. "The Unholy High Priest himself… It is little wonder then that you were so… violent. And destructive."

"Yeah…" He sighed. "But it was worse than that. Hargon was using my destruction to awaken the literal God of Destruction, also hiding inside me somewhere. A lot of my strength came from him, though I didn't know it then. It… it warped my mind. Obviously. Especially once the mirror thing happened. And the dungeon."

Bishop sat silently for a long moment, considering his words as he stared intently.

"After we left here, Hargon kidnapped me. Brought me to the monster afterlife. Forced me to see terrible freaky things, pretended to make me murder everyone I knew, tried to—" Malroth swallowed hard, steadying his racing heart. "Tried to make me kill Crea…" He shook his head, shivering against the cold snap that gripped his spine. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I've never told her about most of what I saw. What would it matter if I did? Hargon was just trying to break me to make way for the god he was trying to summon. So… I'm like you that way. I get it."

Bishop frowned. "I fail to follow. How is that like me at all?"

Malroth scoffed. "What, you don't think keeping all that to myself doesn't break me every once in a while? Hargon tried to destroy the very basis of who we are. Our beliefs, convictions, whatever you want to call it. And now that we're  _ all _ trying to find a new normal and figure out just what bullshit we're willing to put up with, you and I are the ones deciding it sure as hell ain't that. And that helps other people have strength to throw it off, too." He sighed, slumping in his chair. "It's not easy, though… to do it like this. It's… well, lonely."

Bishop nodded with a small and almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well… perhaps just a little less lonely, now?" 

Malroth met his eyes, seeing the glimmer of familiarity within them. And hope. He smiled back with a small nod before returning his attention to the tea, sipping softly. 

Silence fell between them comfortably, both adrift in their thoughts for the future. It felt good to admit it to someone else who could understand, Malroth decided. At least a little. Or in parallel. However the case, it gave him a little hope, too. While the land itself was trying to heal from war, the people were healing too. That was comforting. 

"Well," Bishop said after several minutes, hauling himself out of his chair. "I think I'd best return you to Lady Crea. She will surely be worried about you."

Malroth grimaced. "Probably…"

Bishop's face was still for a moment, clearly contemplating another question. He took a careful breath. "You're certain she's well?"

_ No. _ "As far as I'm aware," Malroth lied, looking up as he stood. "She's just been nervous of late. Like I said, coping."

Looking unconvinced, Bishop nodded, ushering him to the door. "Shall I escort you back, or do you deem it safe for the twenty feet back to your room?"

"If you hear me scream in the next ten minutes, come looking for me," he joked. "Otherwise it's normal."

Bishop smirked. "Very well. Rest well, Lo— Ah, Malroth. I believe the King will want to take the next two or three days to prepare for Moonahan, so you and Lady Crea will be free to do as you wish until then." He bowed. "And gratitude to you again, for entrusting me with your confidence. I hope we can continue to speak openly."

"Me too," Malroth said. Honesty was a relief, making him feel a comfort he hadn't felt in days. Maybe reassurance too, he thought, that things were gonna be fine. And even if they weren't fine, he had more of a safety net around him now. 

He honestly hoped he wouldn't need it. But with how things seemed to be progressing with Crea, he really wasn't sure anymore.

Returning to the bedroom, Malroth felt a weight return as he stepped back inside through the door. Crea glanced up at him from her place on the floor, now surrounded by mostly-finished odds and ends.

"Well?" she asked. "How was it? What did he want?"

He sighed. "It was fine. He said they were impressed with my ideas. We had tea."

"For an hour?"

Malroth blinked, eyebrows creasing, observing her tense demeanor. "He apologized. For last time."

"Good," Crea grumbled, turning her eyes back to her work. "Now we just need one from everyone else around here."

It was all he could do to bite back his sigh. Moving away from the door, he slipped further into the room, stoking the fire a bit before crawling into bed. Bishop's words lingered in his mind, about finally having to deal with several generation's worth of issues now that the war had finally ended. It had given him a little understanding, truthfully. No wonder they had been so reluctant to end the war– surely they had to know, perhaps subconsciously, the toll such an act would bring. Or maybe not. He wanted to believe in the best of them now. A year of following Crea's example for the very same had changed him a lot since being here last. 

"Bed already?" Crea smirked, trying to joke but coming across as too sarcastic. 

Malroth snorted. "It's late. Way past sunset. You gonna join me or what?"

"Not yet," she muttered. "I want to finish this."

He almost instinctively got up to physically coax her to bed, or to pick her up and drop her on top of the mattress, but he remembered the last time when he'd tried and she had bitten him. He sighed at the dull, phantom pain. "Please sleep," he murmured. "It's been a long day."

Crea stared at the materials around her on the floor, contemplating his request for a long time. Too long. A few times she reached for something before pulling her hands back, growling under her breath. She finally released a heavy sigh, rising to her feet and climbing into bed. Malroth could see the circles under her eyes as she neared, forcefully curling up in his embrace. He didn't even have time to say anything before she yawned, tucking her face against his chest and starting to relax. Malroth placed his head atop hers, listening and pondering what was happening to them. Her reluctance was odd, though he knew Ketriel would be returning soon. Or was he back already? Crea would surely tell him about that, right?

Crea sighed softly already deep in sleep, making Malroth sigh too, wishing for answers. 


	30. The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth warps too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~preemptive apology~~
> 
> ~~NO REALLY~~

Mumbles and murmurs roused Malroth from sleep, blearily bringing his consciousness from the murky fog of dreams. For a long moment the sounds were nondescript and vague, sounding like people talking far away in the hallway. But then, like a dial turning up the volume, his mind began to focus on it, placing the source of the murmurs into bed right next to him.

Cautiously he peeked open one eye, seeing Crea's back. She'd rolled away sometime in the night, and he listened carefully to make sure he was hearing her and not some infiltrator that had snuck in while they slept. But tiny twitches of her head keyed him in on her distress from her dreams, and he raised his head and his hand to lean over and wake her up.

At least, he tried to.

"No," Crea growled softly. "They don't want to let me fight… I want to destroy them, like last time…"

At her words he became frozen, blood running cold, staring at her back like it had grown an eye.

"It would be easy, y'know," she mumbled. "I'm even stronger now. But they only want me to build, and I can't build until we fight, but they won't let me… Well of course I _could_ go by myself, but it would be better with… Malroth…"

Malroth realized suddenly that instead of merely sleep talking, she sounded like she was narrating half of a conversation. Hesitantly he pulled his hand back, holding it to his chest as he listened.

"Last time? It was just me and Malroth and that traitor Warwick I told you about before…"

So Ketriel _had_ returned. Or, from what it sounded like, maybe even been back a while already. The thought made Malroth nervously chew his lip. They'd only been in Moonbrooke about two days– how long had he been back? And worse yet…

Why hadn't she mentioned it?

"They didn't even know how many monsters were up there… You think so?… I don't know if I could do that by myself… Malroth would help me…"

Malroth startled. _She wants to go kill the monsters._ His foolhardy recklessness for battle had faded since Hargon had been purged from his soul, and while last time he would've happily run headlong into a blizzard at the promise of fighting, this time he was starting to recognize the exorbitant number of risks for those sorts of actions. Heart beating soundly in his chest, he reached his hand out again to wake her.

But Crea jerked awake before he could touch her, clearly disoriented as she rolled onto her back. Her eyes focused on him for a moment as Malroth pulled his hand back yet again, and her gaze hardened into one of fierce determination. 

He wasn't one to get scared easily, but something about it made his stomach churn.

"We gotta go," she said, throwing the blanket from her torso. "There's something I need to do."

Malroth hesitated, not knowing whether or not to hide that he knew what she was talking about. "What? Where?"

Crea exhaled sharply through her nose, obviously trying to hide it herself. She started changing into her travel clothes, obviously thinking just a little too long how to answer his question. "You'll see. Just get changed and let's go."

"Shouldn't we eat something before you go off on a building spree?" Reluctant as he was, he still slid out of bed and started pulling on his clothes as well.

"This won't be a building spree."

"Then _what?"_

She pursed her lips tightly, not making eye contact.

"Crea," Malroth growled. "What are you doing?"

"Fighting!" she snapped, finally looking up to glare at him. "They don't think I can fight, well I'm going to prove that I can."

"This isn't about your abilities," he scowled, meeting her glare with one of his own. "It's _not safe._ There could be a dragon up there for all we know! Or ten! Because we know nothing!"

"You sound scared," she taunted, the mocking edge of her voice as sharp as a fresh dagger. "Are you coming or not?"

"You shouldn't go up there," Malroth said, spitting his words from between clenched teeth. "We have a plan, we should stick to it."

Crea rolled her eyes, turning away to adjust her bag at her hip. "I seem to remember you thought plans were for idiots."

"That was almost a year and a half ago!" he yelled, cinching his belt tight around his waist. "Y'know, when I had Hargon in my head telling me to destroy everything? Totally in my right mind with that—"

"I let you go bother the troll so he could fight us, how is this different?" she challenged.

Malroth paused, his face tight with frustration and worry.

Crea rolled her eyes again, habitually taking her pendant in her hand. "Fine. I'll do it myself. I'll see you later."

"No—!" He lunged suddenly, reaching his hands out to try to grab her before she warped, but a flash of blue light and she was gone, leaving him to grasp at thin air and fall onto his stomach. Malroth growled, slamming his fists against the floor. "Damn you…!" Panic welled up in his chest suddenly, his mind hurriedly determining the fastest way after her. Walking or scaling the sheer cliff would take too long, as would running to the nearest naviglobe. Dread settled over him suddenly as he realized there was only one way to catch her.

He would have to warp himself.

Pulling his body up so he could kneel, he stared at the floor for a long few seconds. He had resisted learning whenever Crea had tried to teach him since it just made him nauseous, and he didn't see much point back then when they were inseparable back on the Isle. But now she was off without him, and Malroth knew he had to try. Just like he'd learned to build by watching and used it to save her life when it mattered, now he had to do it again. 

Malroth balled his hands into fists on his thighs, breathing deeply. She had said she always had to concentrate for a moment before warping, envisioning where it was she was traveling to. Closing his eyes, he tried to pull the picture of the mountain cabin to his mind, the naviglobe glimmering as swirling snow blew past it, the wind whistling through the broken windows. He wondered if the bunny-seeking mech would still be there. Or if any other monsters would have moved in. Or—

 _Focus!_ he scolded himself, clenching his jaw. _Crea needs me!_ Growling, he tried to imagine more detail, from the frozen floorboards to the icicles on the broken roof, to the gaps in the walls where the windows used to be, to the way it looked with the snowdrifts pressed up against the outside wall—

A sudden twisting in his stomach made him gasp in pain and surprise, falling forward to lean on his hands. The nausea was overwhelming, radiating from his stomach to make his hands feel clammy and his skin feel cold. But then the whistling wind caught his attention, and he looked up and opened his eyes to find a naviglobe in front of him, the soft reflection of the snow around it making it look more like a snow globe. Still gasping from the abrupt change, Malroth stumbled to his feet, leaning against the broken door frame for support, looking out into the snowstorm.

"Crea!" he yelled weakly. "Wait!"

But only the wind answered him, whipping snow past his nose and making him shiver. Taking several deep breaths to settle the protests of his body, he then stepped out into the storm, fighting against the wind, one arm tucked across his stomach as he listened for her.

Fortunately, it wasn't far before he heard the familiar sounds of metal striking metal, and he stumbled towards it using his other arm to shield his eyes from the storm. The nausea in his stomach refused to cease especially as he kept moving, but he ignored it as best he could, squinting to see anything through the curtains of white snow. The crashing of steel got louder and he realized in the back of his mind somewhere that he was deep in monster territory without a weapon, as well as hardly able to keep himself standing. A silhouette appeared in front of him, about ten feet away, but he instantly recognized it with palpable relief.

"Crea," he croaked, shuffling towards her around the motionless monster bodies in the snow.

She turned, her expression shifting from annoyance to surprise. "Malroth? How did you—"

"Crea, we—" He swallowed suddenly to keep his stomach in place. "We have to go back, we have to go home," he panted, ambling up to her side. 

Her expression hardened again. "I told you I'm going to do this!" she yelled over the storm. "I'm a Master Builder, but that doesn't mean I can't fight! I can still fix other things!"

Malroth lurched suddenly, grabbing her arm. "Home," he whispered, his body pleading for him to stop.

"No! I won't—!"

A flash of blue light enveloped them, and suddenly they were back in their bedroom in the castle, standing at the foot of their large bed. Malroth couldn't see it though, his vision instead exploding in white spots from the energy he expended to warp them both.

Rage passed over Crea's face. "How dare—!"

But she was cut off by Malroth retching loudly, keeling over to kneel on the floor, his hand still gripping helplessly at her sleeve, the other held tightly across his stomach. "Crea…" He sobbed, then expelled the contents of his stomach on the stone floor, whimpering. "Don't…"

"Malroth?" Crea exclaimed, kneeling at his side and lifting his chin to see his face. She gasped to see him terribly pale, eyes fluttering as if to roll back into his head, panting and wheezing for air. She rose to her feet and dashed for the door in the same motion, making Malroth sob again.

"Crea, no, please…"

"Bishop!" she roared, flinging the door open so hard it smashed into the stone wall. "Anybody! I need a healer! _Now!"_ She turned back around, leaving the bedroom door open, seeing Malroth struggling to even get up on his knees, reaching out after her.

"Crea…"

"I'm here," she said, rushing back to his side. "You're okay, I've got you, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" In the distance she heard someone running, and she hoped it meant help was close.

"Crea," he moaned again, before his body lurched and made him try to vomit once more, though there was nothing left to remove from his system. Malroth whimpered, clutching his stomach harder with his arm.

"I know, I'm sorry," she said again, trying to rub his back and reassure him. "I won't leave, I'm with you now, okay? Just, hold on, Bishop's getting a healer, okay? You're gonna be fine…"

_If you left now he couldn't follow you._

"Shut up," Crea scowled, not taking her eyes from Malroth's feverish face. "He needs me. I'm not leaving him like this."

_But then no one could stop you from proving yourself._

"I said I'm not going!" she snapped. "Now shut up if you're not going to help!"

Rapid footfalls on the stone caught her attention and she looked to the doorway, seeing a man in a green robe appear with Bishop behind his shoulder.

"Malroth!" Bishop exclaimed, horror passing over his face.

Crea grit her teeth, focusing her attention on the healer. "He just warped twice on his own, he's never done it before and warping with me has always made him sick in the first place," she explained, pausing as Malroth retched dryly again, moaning as he gripped her sleeve harder with what little energy he had left. 

The healer moved quickly, kneeling on Malroth's other side and pressing at his shoulder, urging him to sit more upright. Malroth groaned, face twisted in pain, but he managed slowly, supported at both shoulders. The healer said nothing but put his hand on Malroth's stomach, a green light beginning to surround his hand. Malroth grimaced, a painful whine erupting from his mouth, his head lolling forward as the sounds from his mouth trailed away and his body went limp.

"What happened?" Crea demanded. "What did you do?"

"Medically induced coma, essentially," the healer responded. "In this case, it won't last long. I'll have a couple minutes to ground him and then he'll have to recover the rest on his own. Such magical motion sickness is not uncommon, but I've never seen a case as bad as this…"

Bishop took a step in from the doorway. "Why was he warping?" 

Crea's gaze didn't leave Malroth's face, but she glared at Bishop out of the corner of her eyes. "He was warping after me."

"Twice?"

Crea pursed her lips together tightly for a moment before continuing. "Once on his own. The second time he brought me back here."

It was Bishop's turn for his lips to crease into a thin line. "Where were you trying to go?"

"None of your fricking business," she muttered softly.

"I believe it is very much _my fricking business,_ Lady Crea," he responded coolly. "Not only did you put our only source of monster intelligence at risk, but you also inadvertently threatened my friend. I take that very seriously."

"So you're best friends after only an hour of tea?" Crea scowled. "I'm surprised you even bothered, considering everyone here still thinks he _is_ a monster thanks to the last time we were here."

"Lady Crea," Bishop said, his voice raising to command her attention. "Now is not the time for this. Malroth is gravely ill and we must attend to that first. Doubt me all you want, but do so after he can hold conscious thought and defend himself."

Malroth groaned weakly, making Crea turn her attention back to him. "Love?"

"He's just about ready," the healer offered, "though he'll be weak for a day or two. Soft foods, no magic, make sure he sleeps it off. Do _not_ leave him alone for more than a few minutes at a time. If he was so desperate to chase you as to risk his own life to do so, a mental break may not be far off. I can't say with certainty, but it's not a risk I would take."

Crea nodded, reaching her arm across Malroth's shoulders as the healer removed his support and stood. 

"Many thanks, Holbrook," Bishop nodded. The healer returned the nod, swiftly leaving. Malroth groaned again, making Bishop turn his attention back to him.

Crea looked back to the general, staring at him firmly. "Can you help me get him on the bed?" 

Bishop nodded silently, moving to the vacated spot at his side. It was easy between the two of them, helping Malroth to stand on trembling feet and get him to sit on the side of the bed. Bishop stepped back as Crea helped Malroth both lay on his side and lift his feet from the floor onto the bed.

"Crea?" Malroth groaned weakly.

"I'm here," she said, pausing to move into his range of vision, smoothing his cheek with her fingers. He stared at her blankly for a moment, eyes dilating as he recognized her, then relaxed all the muscles in his shoulders. He hummed with relief, shutting his eyes again and letting his head settle on the pillow. Crea turned again at the intake of breath behind her. 

"I shall be back tomorrow to see how he's progressing," Bishop said, "as well as have the kitchen send a meal for you both come dinnertime tonight."

"Don't bother," Crea said, waving her hand. "I've got plenty in reserve."

He pursed his lips where she couldn't see him. "Very well. But I will still come back to see how things are. Malroth's importance to our mission is paramount, and it is imperative that he recover without complications."

Crea nodded, biting back an angry sigh. "On that note, it's probably best that you let us rest. I promise I won't go anywhere if it would make you feel better."

"The thought had not crossed my mind, but I appreciate your assurance on the matter." Bishop bowed slightly. "In that case, best of luck, Lady Crea. I shall return tomorrow."

Crea watched him go, closing the door behind him as he left. His footsteps faded away down the hallway and she was left in silence, all except for Malroth's slightly labored breathing. She sighed as she looked back at his pale form, his arm still resting lazily over his stomach, his eyebrows scrunched together like he was thinking hard. Or in pain. But she would rather believe it was concentration. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured, rubbing his knee. "I don't know what's gotten into me. I should know better than to run off like that, especially to run off without you. I thought…" She paused at a sudden pressure that formed behind her eyes, making her wince at the headache. "I wasn't thinking. I got too focused on fixing the problem and proving that I could do what they said I couldn't…"

Malroth sighed softly, making Crea look up to his face once more. His expression had relaxed, making her simultaneously relieved and annoyed.

"And you can't even hear me cos you're asleep." It was her turn to sigh, rubbing her face with her hands. 

His soft sighs developed into the gentle snoring she had come to appreciate, and she let much of her stress go as she focused on him. Moving around the bed, she climbed in next to him, watching his chest rise and fall as his breathing became more relaxed and normal sounding. Her eyelids began to droop and she sighed again, scooting next to him as close as she possibly dared. 

"Y'know," Crea whispered as her eyelids fought valiantly against gravity, but ultimately lost a second later. "Sometimes I wonder how lost I would be without you… I should remember that…" 

Listening to the reassuring noises of Malroth while he slept, she was likewise asleep within a moment, oblivious to the dissatisfied scoff from Ketriel deep within her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I should stop apologizing for chapters huh?


	31. The Decline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth tries to confront Crea.

_ I need a healer! _

_ Crea? _

_ You're gonna be fine.  _

_ I'm here. _

_ I'm sorry… _

_ Crea…? _

Malroth groaned against the pounding in his head, slowly stirring as distant voices seemed to echo in his mind, coming from all directions around him. Internally he felt like he was wading through an ocean of syrup, and his body felt heavy and hot as though he'd been buried under three blankets in the winter and suddenly woke up in the middle of summer, drenched and lethargic. Moaning at the feverish heat around him, he tried to move his arms, hoping to throw whatever heat was on his chest away from him so he could breathe.

But suddenly Crea's face appeared over him, smoothing her fingers on his face. Her mouth was moving like she was speaking, and he tried to follow the movements of her lips as though he could read the words as they came out. But she was too fast, so he didn't. 

"Crea," he mumbled, his whole body sluggish to follow his commands. It was so unbearably hot. Crea held up her finger, indicating for him to wait, then disappeared from view. Malroth raised his arms to find the blanket to throw it off, but was surprised when they lifted without resistance, indicating he was already uncovered. He groaned.  _ So hot…  _

A moment later Crea returned, holding a medicinal herb to his lips. Obediently he opened his mouth, allowing her to slip it under his tongue. He sucked on it for a minute before a surge of healing energy hit the back of his throat, immediately making his ears pop. The cotton feeling in his ears disappeared and he gasped in surprise, the pulsing at the back of his throat starting to radiate through his body like pleasant ice. Breathing a sigh of relief, he realized that the panting he heard was his own, and he self-consciously made it quieter.

"Hey," Crea said, nonchalant and sitting cross legged on the bed next to him.

Malroth turned his head to properly look at her. "Hi," he murmured. "When did we get back here?"

Her eyes betrayed her surprise. "You don't remember?"

He shook his head as he thought about it. "No. I was with you in the snow. Then my vision got spotty and I must've passed out." He rubbed at his head. "Did you bring me back, then?"

It was Crea's turn to shake her head. "No. You grabbed my arm and warped us back here. I was mad until you collapsed and threw up on the floor two seconds later."

His face paled. "I what?"

"Yep. I cleaned it already."

Malroth consciously had to close his gaping mouth. "And then?"

"The healer came. Said your magic sickness was the worst he'd ever seen. Granted you'd just warped twice within ten minutes so I'm not that surprised." Crea chewed her lip. "I didn't think you knew how to warp."

"I don't," he agreed. "But I didn't know how to build for a long time either. Still managed to do that when it mattered, too."

She nodded slowly. "Makes sense, I guess."

He sighed, moving his hand to rest on her knee with a weak smile. "I'm just glad you're safe," he murmured. 

Crea frowned suddenly. "You shouldn't have followed me."

Malroth blinked. "What?"

"You shouldn't have warped," she said. "It's never been good for you. What were you thinking? You could've passed out in the cabin for all I knew! And then you would've frozen up there!"

"You needed me!" he protested. 

"It was stupid!" she growled.

"Because  _ me _ being up there by myself is somehow more stupid than  _ you _ being up there by yourself," he snapped, his head starting to ache a bit. He groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. "You were gonna fight Goddess knows how many monsters up there in a freaking blizzard! But tell me how it's  _ my _ fault that I followed you when  _ you're _ the one that went up there alone in the first place."

Crea looked like she'd been slapped, blinking and wide-eyed. She stared at him for a few moments, then looked away sheepishly, her eyebrows furrowing tightly as she stared down at the bed. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I… shouldn't have said it like that…" Her eyebrows were tight as she reconsidered her words, and clearly struggling with her next ones. "You're right, that was dumb. I… I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Even though he was still recovering, Malroth felt a different kind of chill sweep over him. He'd heard things like  _ that  _ before– and from his own mouth, no less. He swallowed harshly.  _ I need to know.  _ "Crea?" he asked quietly. She made a noncommittal grunt and he continued at a whisper. "Is this Ketriel's doing?"

"No," she said, too fast. Her eyebrows tightened together even more.

"How do you know?"

She went silent at that, this time for too long. "He's been quiet lately."

He couldn't keep from scoffing. "Quiet? You mean like before you went up the mountain, and he was trying to convince you to go kill yourself fighting monsters?" It was a bold claim, one that he didn't know for certain, but the way her eyes lit up with anger told him he was right about some of it.

"That's not what he said!"

"Oh great, so he is back. So what  _ did _ he say?"

Frustration etched into every line on Crea's face. Her eyes seemed to flicker in color, as well as recede from bright to dull. "He believed me and thought I could do it, too."

"Listen," Malroth said, turning his whole body so he could look at her more directly. "I keep saying this has nothing to do about your abilities, okay? At the start of this whole issue you said you'd believe me, you'd trust me and you'd  _ tell _ me. And I would keep you grounded. Right? You remember we said that?" He waited for her nod before he continued. "You promised me because there was a lot we didn't know. And still don't know. We didn't want to get separated like how Hargon tried to tear us apart. You remember back then? And I started saying things I didn't understand why I'd said them?"

Crea balled her hands into fists, jamming them into the bed at her side. Something flickered in her eyes again. "But Hargon was trying to hurt you!" she complained. 

"And Ketriel sending you into a den of monsters by yourself  _ isn't _ trying to hurt you?"

"I could've handled it!"

"No!" Malroth yelled, still fighting the ache in his head. "Why can't you see how he's lying to you? That he's trying to get you to rely on him more than me,  _ believe him  _ more than  _ me? _ You have to keep trusting me, I know what that's like and he's going to destroy you if you listen to more of that!"

"No! He won't!" She pounded her fists against the bed. "He just needs my help!"

"He apparently needs you to be  _ submissive!" _ he countered. "What does he gain by sending you up there, huh? Send you straight into danger so he can save you and make you feel grateful to him so you'll do whatever he says?"

"You mean like you?" she spat. 

"I get nothing for knowing you're in danger! Other than anxiety, maybe. I've been by your side for how long now? Huh? And have I  _ ever  _ pushed you like that?"

"The sooner we finish here the sooner we can help him," Crea said, ignoring his questions. 

"Don't even try that," he growled. "Because you said he needed us to come here, that he wasn't ready for you at the time, so now miraculously three days later it's been long enough? You don't think we could've been sailing to him in that same time? You haven't asked him about the sudden turnaround yet?"

"Shut up!" she yelled, turning her head aside to avoid his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Like hell I don't!" he roared, his head protesting at the sudden pressure. "I lived that once already, Crea, we promised it would never come to this again! I thought you trusted me with this!"

"Well I don't!" she screamed, pounding her fists against the bed on her last word, baring her clenched teeth as she growled. "Not anymore!"

The whole room seemed to freeze in silence alongside Malroth's blood, leaving him to stare open mouthed at the side of her face for a long minute. When he remembered to breathe again, he exhaled heavily. "You don't mean that," he whispered finally, his limbs starting to feel weak again. 

"Like hell I don't," she snapped, turning to look at him with fire in her eyes. It made him scarcely aware of the subtle change in color. "Stop acting like you own me, Malroth. I'll make my own choices, understand? If you wanna protect me or whatever then you better just keep up. I'm gonna do what I need to to get things done around here and nobody will stop me. Not you, not anyone. So stop trying to stop me." 

They stared at one another until the pain in Malroth's skull was unbearable, making him sigh and deflate, subtly nodding his head weakly. On any other day he could have fought back further, but today with his pulsing headache and ailing body there was no way he could stand it. So instead, he simply gave up for the time being, rolling on his side away from her and curling up as he stared at the wardrobe and the wall. 

_ Is this how she felt back then? _ he wondered.  _ Helpless and stuck?  _

He heard Crea move off the bed, but he didn't dare look. All he knew was that everything was falling and he was stuck, trapped with her and a deranged lunatic that was trying to kill her. Or him. Or something.

Malroth sighed, trying to soothe the aching hole in his chest. He simply hoped he could recover soon.

* * *

Ketriel smirked as he came back to himself in the amphitheater, breathing a sigh of relief. "Well, that went better than expected." 

The attendant near the back of the room cocked his head to the side. "Complications?"

Rolling his stiff shoulders, Ketriel chuckled after a minute, approaching the other man. "The builder's companion is perceptive, but she's too stubborn to listen now that she's made up her mind to assist me. Fortunately. Damn companion nearly ruined it yesterday putting on his little act with the healer and making her remember how much she cared for him." He scoffed. "But influencing her feelings and actions is remarkably simple. She's very trusting. Believes the best in everyone, fortunately for me. Besides, it's easy to make these mortals become blind to the things they used to cherish. Make them take it for granted to the point it begins to annoy them instead, and then they rip the bandage off themselves only to find how much they bleed without a support." Ketriel chuckled. "You know I'm not a big proponent of destruction, of course. Normally we could never be. But things are drastic and we need her here, so certainly we must relinquish some rules and destroy their relationship in order for us and the world to survive, don't you think?"

The man nodded with a sincere smile. "Praise be to the order," he said. 

"Indeed." Ketriel smiled dangerously. "And praise be to the Builder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :C


	32. The Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bishop helps Malroth out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you that celebrate it, merry Christmas! since that's today. :3 thanks for spending some of it with me. (even though it's an angst-fest in here.)

Malroth wasn't even aware of anything else for a profoundly long time until there was a knock at the door.

Blearily he raised his head, only having enough energy to look as Crea grumbled her way to the door. He didn't know how long it had been, or if he'd slept. He wasn't even sure if he felt better. But he knew he felt some strange mixture of relief and desperate distress as he saw Bishop in the doorway, donned head to toe in his typical armor befitting a general. It was when he met Bishop's gaze that Malroth knew he needed help to get out. He just didn't know how to get away from Crea in this state to tell him.  _ Somebody _ needed to know. 

"Bishop," Crea acknowledged curtly.

He bowed slightly. "Lady Crea," he said. "I hope this morning has been kind to you. As I mentioned yesterday, I'm here to check on Malroth."

"He's fine," she said, her voice clipped and snippy.

Bishop smiled warmly. "I have no doubt. But I am a simple man and I require evidence with my own eyes."

Crea's mouth curled in contempt, rolling her eyes slightly and turning from the open door without a word and striding to sit in her chair by the fireplace. Bishop followed her inside silently, approaching Malroth's side next to the bed. Crea's eyes followed him warily, obviously suspicious. Malroth lowered his head back to the pillow, looking up with only his eyes at Bishop as he approached. There was a warmth in his eyes as he smiled, making Malroth feel even more sure that he needed to get out for a little while. He racked his brain, trying to think how he could send his message for help.

"Glad to see you're awake," Bishop said, still smiling as though he hadn't been spurned just a moment ago. "Bit on the pale side still, but I suppose that's to be expected. Have you eaten much yet?"

Malroth shook his head, his mouth croaking when he tried to speak. 

Bishop chuckled. "Took a bit more out of you than you thought, huh?" He brought his hand up, removing his glove so he could put his hand on Malroth's forehead. 

Instinctively Malroth grabbed Bishop's wrist, causing him to look directly into his eyes. Malroth tried to speak again, but a soft hiss escaped him as he mouthed  _ help.  _ Bishop remained stone faced, his eyes the only indicator that he'd seen and understood.

"Hmm…?" He bent over closer to Malroth's face, carefully watching as though he were looking for something. Malroth didn't quite understand what he was doing that for, but managed to whisper with Bishop's ear two inches from his mouth. 

"Get me out."

Bishop's face paled, though Malroth wasn't sure if it was genuine or simply acting the part so as not to make Crea more paranoid than she already was. "Oh…" he said, leaning back to fretfully look over Malroth's body. "Oh dear…"

"What?" Crea demanded angrily, standing from her chair. "What's wrong?"

"His eyes," Bishop said, concern and worry very obvious on his face as he rested his hand on Malroth's forehead. "They're dilated unevenly… I don't know enough to say what that means, but I doubt it's good."

"What! Let me see."

Shaking his head, Bishop ran his fingers over Malroth's eyes, making him close them. Understanding now what was happening, he kept them closed as Bishop forced his arms underneath his body, lifting him from the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Crea shouted, her voice sounding to Malroth like they were passing her. "Where are you taking him?"

"Infirmary," Bishop grunted, carefully angling through the doorway. "Obviously."

"He doesn't need—"

"No time," Bishop yelled over his shoulder. "I'm not taking chances!"

Malroth could only hear Bishop's fast footfalls as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, faintly hearing Crea following behind. Occasionally he heard a horrified gasp as they presumably passed others in the wide corridors, making his ears flush hotly and grumble uncomfortably. 

"You're fine," Bishop murmured. Malroth didn't know if he meant it or not. 

A few seconds later they moved through another doorway, where he heard yet another man gasp. "Bishop!"

"Holbrook," he grunted. "Bed. Now."

"This way!"

After a few seconds of flurried movement, Malroth felt his body hit the bed. As soon as Bishop's arms left him he curled up onto his side, listening as Crea flew into the infirmary after them.

"What's going on?" she demanded. 

"Lady Crea," Holbrook said, "I must ask you to wait outside."

"But not him?" she shouted. Malroth could imagine her gesturing at Bishop.

"He's second to the King, I cannot ask him to leave."

"I'm a builder and he's my partner, you don't think that counts for anything?"

"Lady Crea!" Bishop interrupted. "The longer you stay here, the longer it will take to make sure he's okay. Kindly back down or I will do it for you!"

A long silence followed, and his tense curiosity made Malroth peek open one eye. He could barely see past Bishop's armor standing between them, but from what he could see of Crea's face, she was bright red with frustration. She sputtered a few moments before spinning on her heel, stomping back out into the corridor and slamming the door behind her.

Bishop exhaled heavily, turning to kneel and put his hand on top of Malroth's forehead. "She's gone. Are you alright?"

Malroth nodded, finally opening his eyes. "Thanks," he rasped.

"General, I must ask you to step back until I've identified the issue."

"There is no issue," Bishop said, looking up at the healer. "At least, none that I am aware of. Malroth needed space from Lady Crea and this was the easiest place I could quickly think of at the time."

Malroth spoke quietly, feeling the strain on his vocal cords as though they were dried out. "So there's nothing wrong with my eyes?"

"No," Bishop said with a small shake of his head. "They're normal. Well, as normal as they can be for being red, I suppose."

"I'll go ahead and check anyway," Holbrook sighed, sitting on the bed and placing his palm on Malroth's side. "Make sure he's healing properly and all."

Bishop smiled, relieved. "Many thanks. Personally I thought he looked a bit pale, but he also mentioned he hadn't eaten yet today."

"Hopefully that's the only problem."

Malroth hesitated. "There is one other thing," he admitted softly. "Not health-wise. But I can tell only you."

Bishop met his eyes, searching carefully, an eyebrow rising slowly. "More to it than just space?"

He nodded. 

"Just another minute," Holbrook grumbled.

Fortunately, rather than being tense and uncomfortable, the following silence just  _ was. _ It existed, that was about it. All things considered, Bishop looked calm to Malroth, though a semblance of rigid determination radiated from him, even as he stood to fetch a chair from near the foot of the bed. Not that he could blame him– the whole exit had been rather abrupt. Too abrupt not to expect something important. Malroth sighed, feeling suddenly silly. So they had a fight, big whoop. Was it worth the dramatics to get out? He didn't have time to dwell on it much longer, since Holbrook stood at that moment and disrupted his train of thought. 

"He is indeed fine," he affirmed, directing his comments to Bishop. "Though, as you said, he needs to eat. I'll prepare something for him, but I'll wait to bring it until after you leave, general. I'm not going to risk hearing something I shouldn't." Holbrook pursed his lips, nodded to Malroth, and left before either of them could say anything more. 

Once the door was closed, Bishop relaxed in his chair, turning his entire attention to Malroth while setting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands between his knees. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

Malroth shook his head in small motions, indicating his disbelief. "Something's wrong," he croaked. 

"I gathered. But tell me first, are you alright?"

Malroth stopped a moment, considering the state of himself. "I don't know," he admitted. "Physically yes. I think. But I don't know."

Bishop's eyebrows sunk deep on his brow, his eyes hardening. "Because of her?"

He shook his head again. "Not directly," he whispered. "I can trust you again, right? Don't tell the King or anyone else?"

Bishop nodded firmly. "Provided it does not directly threaten anyone, yes. As my position of sworn general, I swear by it."

Malroth nodded with a heavy sigh. "You remember what I said about Hargon? As the voice in my mind?"

Bishop's eyes narrowed sharply. "Yes…"

"She has one now," he explained, quickly and in one long breath to keep himself from chickening out. "It's messing with her. Encouraging her to do things she wouldn't normally."

"You mean like make her aggressive?" he wondered aloud.

Malroth shrugged his shoulder, sighing in defeat. "More like stubborn. It was the one that convinced her to go up the mountain, under some ridiculous idea that it would help her  _ prove herself _ if she could take out all the monsters in one go."

"She went  _ where?" _ Bishop hissed angrily. 

Malroth winced, even though he knew it wasn't directed at him. "I know. But then… Then I woke up yesterday, I think, and she said it was my fault for getting sick and following her up there, like it wasn't her choice to go in the first place—" Shaking his head, he stopped himself from that thought. "It's been weeks. The voice was subtle at first. She promised she would tell me everything it said, that she trusted me to keep her safe and grounded, but then… yesterday she told me she didn't anymore. She doesn't trust me anymore." He exhaled heavily, looking up sadly at Bishop's face. 

After a long moment of making sure Malroth was finished, Bishop hummed, leaning back in his chair. "Troubling."

Malroth nodded, feeling like he was wilting. "I shouldn't have freaked out and made you bring me here. It was just… a fight. Those are normal, right?"

"Not like that," Bishop grumbled. "And even if it  _ was, _ this voice certainly does not make things normal."

"But what can I do?" Malroth whispered, his voice tight in his throat. "I have no idea what's happening, and even if I did, she won't listen to me. What am I supposed to do?"

Sighing, Bishop shook his head. "I wish I could say with a surety," he admitted. "And the convoy will leave for Moonahan tomorrow. That doesn't give us a lot of time nor options."

Malroth curled his legs closer to his chest.  _ Tomorrow already?  _

"Does she care about perceptions? Perhaps camping at Moonahan will dissuade her temper if there are others about."

"Doubt it," he mumbled. "You saw how she was at the war meeting, and that was what, three days ago already? If her voice follows the same pattern as mine, that'll get way worse before it gets any better." He sighed again.  _ "If _ it gets any better…"

"Oh, yes," Bishop said, slumping a bit. "I remember what you said. But who is her voice? You had the high priest of destruction speaking with you. What of hers?"

"I don't know who he is. Someone named Ketriel. That's pretty much all I know about him. He needs her for something, to go visit wherever he lives to build something or train somebody to be a Master Builder or something, I don't know anymore." Malroth groaned, reaching up to rub his face with one hand. "I don't trust him at all, but apparently she does now. A lot."

"Well you can't just leave her alone, can you?" Bishop pursed his lips. "If this Ketriel character plans to lure her away as it sounds…"

"I know…" Malroth dropped his hand back to the bed. "I've told her that before too. She won't listen. I'm afraid that the longer this goes on, the more she'll distance herself like I did, and then who knows where she'll go if I'm not there to hold her back?"

"Malroth, listen," Bishop said firmly, leaning further forward to put his elbows on his knees. "You only know your own experiences with this. Would it have made it easier to fight Hargon if Crea was trying to convince you that your actions were outrageous or too violent while all of that was going on?"

He considered this for a moment. "Probably not."

"And what did she do instead?"

Malroth thought for another moment. "Well, she was really busy with traps and swords and finding marble, so we didn't see each other much. But I remember she didn't ever judge me like everybody else did, even though I could tell she was really worried about everything. And me, probably."

"So you could say she supported you, perhaps?"

"I mean… there was that issue with the mirror…"

Bishop scoffed. "As I recall, you didn't seem to realize that  _ everyone _ had to look in the mirror. She looked very eager to give you the mirror first, which I thought odd at the time. Knowing what I know now, she was likely desperate to clear your name and reputation for how poorly we trusted you. But then it backfired and you scolded her in front of all of us, and she just looked lost and dazed for days after that…" Bishop stroked his chin, lost in thought. "It's funny how a little context will change an entire memory…"

"But how does that even help me?" Malroth said, exasperated. "Shoving a mirror in her face won't help. There's no way to get through to her!"

"Malroth," Bishop chided. "You're not trying to  _ get through _ to her. You need to just  _ be with _ her. If you want to be able to stay near Crea's side for all of this aftermath to stop this voice from doing something drastic, or to simply save her when the need comes, you're going to have to be unfortunately sneaky about it."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Subterfuge. Reconnaissance. You're going to have to play a part of which you are not."

"You mean like a spy?" Malroth scowled. 

"Of sorts." Bishop sighed, leaning back in his chair once more. "Goddess, I hope this doesn't turn into another war for you to have to survive…"

"I think we're already past that," Malroth grumbled. 

"Yes…" Bishop nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, I believe you're right."

Silence settled like dust, slowly and imperceptibly until it was all but stifling. Both men sat in silence for several long minutes, wondering what the future would hold.

At long last, Bishop stood. "We shall leave for Moonahan tomorrow," he said. "We can speak more when we travel, provided we can distance a bit from the others. Will you be well enough by then?"

Malroth nodded, repressing his sigh. "I have to be, don't I? Doesn't give me much choice."

"Malroth…"

"Relax. I'll be fine."

With the curt dismissal, Bishop retreated, returning the chair to its proper place and leaving the room without another word. Malroth was left to stare at the wall, wondering what he would have to do to stay by Crea's side. Bishop was the expert and hadn't mentioned much, though the promise to talk while they moved to Moonahan seemed hopeful. If not, Malroth hoped he would have time to ask. 

In the meantime, he could only stare at the wall and wait. It was going to be a long afternoon.


	33. The Road to Moonahan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they put their plan in motion.

"Ugh,  _ there _ you are!"

Malroth turned from the wagon he was helping to load, just in time to see Crea stomping towards him. He tried to keep his expression neutral, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "Yes, here I am. Are you okay?"

"I've been worried sick!" she complained, stopping in front of him. "Nobody would let me see you, never mind tell me what was going on. What happened?"

"Complications due to improper grounding," Malroth parroted from Holbrook's rushed explanation that morning. He hadn't asked if there was actually a problem, but Holbrook made sure to tell him anyway as he was getting ready to leave. Malroth suspected Bishop told him to say it in order for everyone to cover their ass. "So they said. Something about a leftover magic pocket stuck back near my kidneys. Whatever those are."

She raised an eyebrow. "So he missed it during that first healing when he came?"

He nodded. "To be fair, he said the kidneys are in the back and it was hard to feel it from the front."

Crea frowned but seemed mostly placated by his explanation. "So you're fine now?"

"Supposedly. Holbrook said fit as a fiddle, but what a fiddle is, or why I would fit in one, I don't know."

Her unimpressed expression softened at that, even smiling a little bit. "Oh. It just means you're back to normal. Thankfully."

Malroth matched her small smile. "You're telling me. I hope I don't ever have to go through that again."

Crea gave a small nod. "Me too."

There was only a few seconds of awkward silence before a loud horn sounded near the front of the caravan, drawing the attention of the entire castle to the northern pass. The two glanced at each other before making their way closer, seeing Bishop at the head of the caravan. He nodded solemnly at the assembled crowd, then addressed them with his powerful voice that easily carried over them all.

"My fellow citizens and soldiers," he began. "As you know, the monster's mountain fortress has plagued our people for a year now, ever since we beat the odds and thwarted the gods to destroy Atlas with the aid of creation. We have since learned that destruction and creation can and should coexist, in order for one to not suffocate the other. But these monsters care not for balance, and it is in opposition to these teachings that we choose now to fight once more. Peace is within our reach, my friends! It is now that we will advance to Moonahan to rebuild what once was, and it is now that we prepare once more to fight back against the monsters that seek again to destroy our spirits. But no more! Now is the day of our own creation. From this day forth we will build what is rightfully ours, and we will no longer live in fear. We must fight once more! To Moonahan!"

Cheers went up around them, the chosen soldiers and builders returning to their wagons with enthusiasm to begin the move. Crea snorted as soon as the area around them was clear. "Well, I'll give him one thing," she murmured. "He's pretty good with speeches."

Malroth nodded, declining to comment on the underlying tone in her voice that made obvious her begrudging respect. He watched Bishop walk to the front wagon before signalling to move, and the caravan began to slowly trudge forward through snow and over uneven ground. Exhaling and releasing a stream of steam that evaporated in front of his face, Malroth turned to Crea, adjusting his hammer on his back. "Well. I guess we're doing this."

Crea nodded, beginning to walk forward into the mountain pass. "Finally."

There wasn't much to talk about as they made their way towards Moonahan, although it was slow going with all the snow and one particularly steep descending hill that had to be taken one wagon at a time. With ten of them, it was bothersome. Malroth made use of his returned strength, helping to ease each one of the wagons over bad spots and even pulling them back when they tried to slide down the incline incorrectly. Occasionally a soldier would mutter a muted thank you when a wagon reached the bottom, which he could always hear. Too focused to smile, Malroth would nod to them in acknowledgement before wiping his brow and running up the incline to do it again. Were he not so determined to make sure the wagons all made it down in one piece, he would've chuckled at the soldier's astonished expressions when they realized he had heard them. 

At the last wagon, Malroth was surprised to find Bishop at his side, likewise grabbing onto the handholds that looped around the back spokes of the wheel in order to keep the wagon from sliding out of their grasp. Malroth acknowledged him wordlessly, slightly panting, before beginning the process once more of helping the wagon down the incline. 

"Holding up alright?" Bishop grunted.

Malroth nodded, breathing heavily as he pulled the weight of the wagon back. "Well enough."

They fell silent again as they moved slow step by slow step, listening to the directing shouts of the drivers at the front. Malroth didn't think about much other than where to put his next step, distantly recognizing the pull in his muscles that he was definitely going to feel the next morning. But the bottom came soon enough, and he exhaled as he released the sling around the back wheel, putting his hands on his hips as he gathered air back into his lungs. 

"Been hearing a lot of praise for you."

Malroth turned to Bishop, a single eyebrow already raised. "For me?"

"Indeed." The general rubbed at his hands, meandering away from the side of the wagon. "Lots of hushed murmurs of course, but in general I think many of them were impressed with your help."

Following him, Malroth glanced at the soldiers who were setting their wagons back up in a line. "Is that not normal?"

"To help? No, that's normal. But ten times in a row with the unyielding strength of an ox? Yes, that's a bit odd around here." Bishop chuckled. "What I'm trying to tell you is I think you just made a lot of them reconsider some things about who they thought you were."

Realization dawned. "You mean they realize I'm more than a battle-crazed monster."

"You could say it that way." Bishop looked around and lowered his voice. "And that you've got a human heart after all."

Malroth looked around at Bishop's wariness, not seeing the cause for his caution. "Okay," he said. "Sure. Great. Why are you telling me that?"

The general's voice dropped lower. "Because there are also already murmurs about the increased  _ strangeness _ of your partner."

Jerking his head in surprise, Malroth felt his eyes go wide as he swept over the caravan, looking for Crea.

"She's at the front," Bishop said, grabbing Malroth's arm to keep him from walking any farther so they could see each other's faces. "She spent the whole time staring off at Moonahan's trees, tilting her head from side to side in an odd way."

"That sounds like how she does when she's drawing up a blueprint in her head," Malroth said. "And that freaked people out?"

"That and the muttering to herself."

Malroth exhaled heavily, his shoulders drooping slightly.

"Malroth," Bishop said, moving his hand up to his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "You remember what I said yesterday?"

"About the spying?"

"Close enough. If you want to stay close to her, you will likely need to butter her up."

"Butter?" Malroth echoed. "What does butter have to do with this?"

Bishop blinked a moment before realizing his confusion. "It's a funny way to say you'll need to flatter her a lot. If she likes you being around her, she'll be less likely to push you away. Granted, you may have to be willing to praise her about decisions you secretly abhor, but it will allow you to stay close until the moment is right to fight back."

"Oh."

Bishop watched Malroth carefully for a moment before squeezing his shoulder once more. "I know, it's not ideal. But such is the price of warfare, I'm afraid. Some sacrifices are unfortunate but necessary. We can only hope they will be worth it, in the end."

Malroth kept his face still, keeping his own focus firmly on the front of the caravan nearing the rickety drawbridge as Bishop removed his hand. 

"Are you okay?" Bishop asked.

He nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled, realizing Crea had already broken rank at the front to run onto the bridge. "Just thinking."

Bishop increased his pace to catch up to the front of the caravan, and Malroth sighed once he knew he was far enough that he wouldn't be heard.  _ Lie? _ he wondered. Usually Crea was too good at seeing through his fake emotions like that, but he admittedly didn't know if she would notice if she were distracted by Ketriel feeding her ego at every turn. Malroth frowned. But if Ketriel was trying to isolate Crea even further, there was always a chance he could use Malroth's fake emotions against him, and that certainly wouldn't help to get closer. It was a delicate and tricky balance to be sure. He needed to think about it. 

Rejoining the caravan, he followed the wagons across the bridge and up the significantly less-steep incline, glancing behind him at the mountain. The top of it was encircled in a misty gray fog, and Malroth felt himself harden at the prospect of fighting. The monsters would certainly be drawn to a group of humans this large, especially ones outside the castle and in the process of building. But there was still the question of  _ which _ monsters would come– the bored or the strong ones. Maybe even both. Still, it wouldn't be anything compared to the full force of them when they later realized the humans weren't playing around.  _ That _ was going to be the fight to worry about. 

But, later. For now, Malroth helped to unload the wagons with the rest of the soldiers, the builders beginning to group around Crea for instructions on how to lay things out. He overheard her say she was going to work on restoring the church by herself,  _ thank you very much, _ and in the meantime the others could work on laying out the main road as well as shops and houses to line each side. Small groups dispersed from the main crowd, lots of pointing and shouting between each group. It was exhausting to listen to, Malroth decided. Even if he hadn't decided to stop building after Crea's outburst, he definitely didn't consider himself a fast enough builder to help with a project of this size.

Some time later, after the groups deliberated on where to put things and where to place the roads and buildings, they finally began to build. Malroth wandered around for a while, watching and keeping a close eye on the mountain as well as the eastern path. He tried to visit the graves behind the church, but Crea shooed him away, going on about needing her space to focus. He didn't argue. It was too much effort. But as the buildings began to rise from the ground, Malroth began to feel the need for escape. He tried to ignore it for too long, truthfully. It successfully convinced him when he spotted a handful of abandoned castle blocks lying in the snow.

Scooping them up into his arms, Malroth retreated away from the bustle of the other builders. To his relief, it was much quieter in the area around the naviglobe, the distant clamor of hammers in the new town sounding like steady rain hitting a glass roof. Lying the blocks out around the pedestal, he immediately began changing the broken tiles, removing the broken ones and matching the empty spots with its neighbors. The naviglobe glimmered as he worked, though he noted with frustration that he didn't have columns to replace the ones that had been lost, nor did he have anything to cover it to protect it from the snow. Malroth sighed, sitting on the steps with his back to the globe and staring up at the mountain.  _ I guess she's right, _ Malroth thought with a sigh.  _ I'll never build as good as her. _

It was a silent hour later when footfalls in the snow caught his attention. Malroth turned to see Crea approaching, making his heart stutter. But he did his best to look nonchalant anyway and looked back at the mountain as if it didn't bother him one bit.

"What are you doing out here?" Crea asked, scrutinizing both him and the pedestal. "The others said you went over this way, but I didn't think you'd be…" She gestured vaguely at the naviglobe. "Well, here. What are you doing?"

Malroth stayed perfectly still, keeping his eyes locked on the mountain clouds. "I was fixing the pedestal."

"Really?" She crinkled her nose as she looked at it. "Why?"

His heart and lungs felt weightless and breathless at that, and he couldn't even formulate a reason why. Did he even need one? "I just wanted to build," he said, voice shaking slightly. "I wanted to make sure I could still do it. I wanted… to be like you." He remembered what Bishop had said about flattery, and while he was still opposed to lying for the sake of getting close to her, there was no lie in his statement.

Crea nodded slowly, looking back to the naviglobe. "I see."

Her impassivity made his heart break, causing him to shake his head and look down at his feet.  _ It's not her fault, _ he repeated to himself again and again.  _ It's not entirely her. This isn't normal. _ But even telling himself that didn't make it hurt any less. In truth, he hoped he would never have to build again. That would hurt much less than this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a distant scream, making him look up towards the town at the same time that Crea turned around. Almost immediately there was frantic shouting in the distance, and Malroth stood, tightening his fists at his side. A builder sprinted into view from around the closest building, sweeping the landscape until their eyes landed on the two of them near the naviglobe, then started to run towards them again.

"Lady Crea! Sir Malroth!" they shrieked. "The monsters are coming!"

"Those bastards better not touch my church," Crea snarled, already moving back towards the town. Malroth sighed, deliberately adjusting his hammer on his back before following her. 


	34. The First Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they get a taste of what they're up against.

Soldiers had already mobilized on the eastern side of town, forming a line across the half-finished street. Crea and Malroth were quickly pointed to a nearby tree once they arrived, a makeshift set of stairs carved into it leading to the top where Bishop's unmistakable plume stood out against the leaves and grey sky. They took the stairs as fast as they dared, climbing to the small lookout post. Bishop didn't turn to greet them, but simply pointed towards the eastern path, his stern expression unchanging. The monsters were still a ways off, but even still Malroth could easily see the confident swagger of the monsters at the front. The strongest ones of the group, he guessed. 

"They're taking their sweet time," Crea grumbled. 

"They've been at this a year," Malroth said. "They probably think it'll scare us off before they even get here. That would make it an easy fight for them, assuming we didn't run away first."

"An accurate assessment," Bishop confirmed. "However, not this time. This time we're ready for them."

Malroth crossed his arms and drummed his fingers against his elbow.  _ For now.  _

The three of them watched for a few minutes before descending again, joining the line of soldiers. The soldiers in question were antsy and fidgety, shifting weight between feet and adjusting their armor and weapons as they anxiously awaited the pending fight.

"Calm yourselves," Bishop called, as though assuring a spooked horse. "This is  _ far _ less than half of any monster force we faced in the battles of Moonbrooke a year ago. You are well trained and equally well prepared. Rest your fears." It calmed them well enough, at least keeping them from  _ looking _ like they were cowardly. Malroth scoffed.  _ At least there's that. _

Watching and waiting for the monsters to get close enough felt like an eternity, even though it was realistically about ten minutes. The two largest trolls in the front seemed to be the ringleaders, their grins splitting wide when they saw the number of soldiers awaiting them. They turned to chortle at each other for a moment as if sharing an inside joke, but then their gazes hardened and they turned back to the human army.

"You humans still not given up?" one yelled, his tongue waving. This one had a particular drool. Malroth decided to call him Spitface.

"Nay," Bishop called. "Such is the unbreakable human spirit."

"Whatever that is," the other one said, rolling his eyes. "You humans no learn! But means more target practice for us." Malroth saw that one had something weird happening with his eyes, like one wasn't working the way it should. He decided to call him Lazyeye.

"Your reign of destruction ends now, villains!" Bishop cried, unsheathing his sword with a loud sound. "No longer will we tolerate your ruin to our lands and our peoples. Begone and we will spare you."

"Less talking, more fighting," Crea grumbled under her breath at Malroth's shoulder. He vaguely wondered if he sounded so eager when they were here a year ago.

"Spare us?" Spitface cried. "Ha ha ha! You should ask  _ us _ to spare  _ you." _

Lazyeye laughed loudly with the other monsters before gesturing to the three or four dozen monsters at his back. "We came for fighting, so we fight! Not beg for sparing."

"So stop talking already, you pig-faced slobber muppets!" Crea screamed.

The silence that followed was deafening. The monsters looked simultaneously offended and amused, and Bishop shot a withering glare at her.

"Who said that?" Spitface cried. "I not understand half those words but I make you regret saying them!"

"Me!" Crea yelled, puffing up her chest and easily drawing attention to herself. "Remember me? Best builder on the island? I'm back to kick your ass and you're gonna enjoy it!"

"Lady Crea!" Bishop hissed, lowering his voice so the monsters wouldn't hear. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Malroth kept his eyes firmly transfixed on the monsters, only listening despite literally standing in the middle of the argument.

"This is taking too long," Crea said, simply grinning smugly back at the general. "Just let me fight already!"

"That is not your decision!" he snapped.

"Says you. Nobody stops me."

"That's absurd! I have two and a half dozen soldiers at my command and I won't have you placing all of their lives in greater danger!"

"General Bishop," Malroth interrupted firmly, his gaze not leaving the line of monsters that began to fan out in front of them. "We can deal with that later. Lead your soldiers before they get slaughtered."

Bishop looked up to see the monsters and their new formation, his rage easily turning into determination as he growled. 

"Humans want to play!" Lazyeye drawled, his tongue wagging as Spitface laughed beside him. "Works for me!"

The monsters made a big show of showing off, grunting and growling and pounding their weapons and claws against the ground. Malroth frowned after a few seconds of the aggressive display. "What are they doing?" he mumbled.

"Clearly trying to show off," Bishop said, swinging his sword in the air in front of him.  _ "Trying _ being the operative word. Soldiers of Moonbrooke, prepare yourselves!"

"No, that's not what I meant." Malroth shook his head. "They're not  _ doing _ anything. So far monsters have never tried to intimidate us like this, they always just charge headlong into fighting."

Bishop scowled. "You said it yourself, did you not? It's been a year of this. Their tactics have changed since you were last here."

"No," he said darkly. "They're waiting for something. This is a trap." Pausing, he looked around, seeing the monsters still roaring and hitting the ground. "You said at the council they attacked often and frequently. They wouldn't have needed to—" Malroth stopped himself as a familiar flapping sound came from behind him, and before he could turn around entirely he saw quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Yelling in surprise, he tackled Bishop to the ground, trying to throw them both out of the way of whatever was behind them.

"Malroth!" he yelled. "Unhand me at once!"

The loud screech of a gargoyle came from over Malroth's back, swooping with claws outstretched where Bishop's shoulders had been seconds before, as though hoping to carry him off into the sky. The monster looked back over its shoulder as it careened back upwards, shaking its fist at them.

Malroth stiffly patted Bishop's chestplate. "Saved your life!" he declared, hurriedly standing. Bishop simply nodded, staring speechlessly at the sky as he gathered his composure and rose slowly to his feet.

"Bastards! Don't touch my church!"

Malroth turned at Crea's voice, seeing her charging off back into town with her hammer drawn in front of her. Looking in the direction she was running, he saw the commotion she was headed for: a small convergence of a dozen chimaeras and hawk men pestering the non-fighting builders sheltered further back by the church. Malroth felt his heart sink, seeing her charging towards them by herself.

"Crea!" he shouted, reaching over his back for his hammer and leaning forward to run. But Bishop's painful grip on his arm yanked him back, keeping him from following. 

"Let her go!" Bishop commanded, now standing at his side. "The bigger fight is here. She is capable of them!"

Malroth turned to see the monsters surging forward from their line. Gritting his teeth, he knew he was right. But he still felt uneasy as he watched the soldiers begin to break their lines to intercept the fight. 

"For Moonbrooke!" Bishop roared. The soldiers screamed in response, and the fight was on.

Malroth was reminded just how much stronger he'd grown since his last time in Moonbrooke. He didn't have the latent power of a god anymore, that was true. But he still struck down monsters easily, batting them to the ground and striking them until they stopped moving, their blood spilling out onto the flattened snow. A number of times he was able to pause long enough to look around, seeing nearby soldiers in distress and intervening fast enough to save them. Malroth would help them to their feet, pat their shoulders, and run off again. Their bewilderment would only last a few seconds before they threw themselves back into the fight. The two trolls, predictably, stayed at the back, roaring and insulting the monsters they supposedly commanded. But even then it didn't take long before the tide turned dramatically, and the next thing Malroth knew or saw of the trolls they were already halfway back up the path, retreating back to the snowy mountains. 

_ Leaving to inform the others, I bet, _ Malroth mused sarcastically.  _ Typical cowards. _

The monsters were easy to eliminate after that, though the quicker ones fled in various directions once they realized the battle was lost. Malroth shouldered his hammer before looking around with his hands on his hips, observing the few dozen monster bodies that lay strewn about. It wouldn't be long before they would dissolve into purple smoke as they always did. Among the wreckage, he caught a glimpse of a couple of human bodies too. He sighed. The silence after a fight was particularly brutal, and he'd forgotten just how heavy it could be sometimes. 

Bishop approached, putting a hand on Malroth's shoulder. "You fought exceedingly well," he remarked. "I'm told you saved some of my soldiers throughout the battle, for which I am grateful."

Malroth nodded, keeping his eyes on an empty helmet near his feet.  _ But not all of them. _

"You should see to Lady Crea," Bishop added. "It's… something."

Malroth snapped his head up to see Bishop's face, and when he saw no hint of anything that was waiting for him, he turned back towards the town and tried to keep from running towards the center. As he went, he passed multiple soldiers tending to their wounds and builders praying their thanks for surviving. Malroth silently prayed too, both for the ones that didn't survive, and a specific one that he hoped had lived.

When he passed through the iron gate leading up to the spotless church, the metallic smell of blood met him in a solid wall that almost made him gag. Each of the monster's bodies that lay in the courtyard were surrounded in large pools of their own blood, running in streams to other bodies and pools. Malroth was horrified to discover some of the chimaera's and hawk men's heads were completely gone, not even on the ground anywhere nearby. He could only describe it as brutal.

Closer to the church, Malroth finally saw Crea, standing passively as she faced the pristine building. He sighed in relief. "Crea," he called.

She turned and he had to fight to keep his eyes from widening. The entire front of her dress was splattered in blood and monster guts, and some even managed to coat the tips of her hair and parts of her face. Her hammer was even worse.

And yet she smiled at him. "I saved it," she said cheerily.

"I'll say," he said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. "You killed them all."

"Of course I did," she said sweetly. "They threatened to break my stuff, so I broke their necks. And their skulls. And their wings. And pretty much every bone in their body. But y'know, they're only mindless destructo-maniacs, so they had it coming."

"Right." Malroth nodded, looking around at the disfigured monsters, swallowing harshly. "Sensible." He bit his tongue to keep from cursing.

Crea grinned. "That's what they get for threatening to destroy  _ my _ stuff."

He kept nodding, his stomach sinking the longer he stood there. "I'm having a hard time with the smell," he wheezed, already heading towards the corner of the church. "I'll be back in a little while."

"I'll bet I killed more monsters than you this time!" Crea happily called after him. He didn't respond. Considering the smell, he didn't think he could even if he wanted to.

Staggering around the side of the building, Malroth pressed his back to the cold stone, allowing himself to gulp in the clean air as well as to gasp in surprise.  _ This is Crea? _ he wondered, his heart pounding.  _ No. No, it can't be. This is… This has to be Ketriel. He's destroying her. _ He growled, thumping the back of his head against the stone. But what could he do, other than grin and bear it until he could strike? Until he could follow her to Ketriel and destroy him to save her?

A slight breeze swept past his face, drawing his attention to rustling leaves nearby. Malroth raised his head and felt his heart skip a beat, realizing he was in the graveyard and hearing the flowers left at the tombstones. After staring for a long minute he was able to push himself away from the wall, mindlessly walking to face the three graves on the outside edge. They looked the same as they'd left them more than a year ago, flawlessly white and unmarked by even their names. Malroth sighed as he saw them, lacking the strength to keep from reverently sinking to his knees.

Sitting on his feet and keeping his hands in his lap, he couldn't help but think about that day so long ago. The day he realized he was at war with himself, and that his recklessness had directly resulted in those three deaths. It didn't sting now as much as it did back then, or even when he returned from Malhalla and pondered it on the nights that sleep evaded him longer than he cared for. But it pressed on his heart just enough to remind him what he'd done. Or rather, what he'd been influenced and forced to do, both from Hargon's desire for destruction and his own need to be useful to Crea outside of the traps she'd started to make. Even still, he felt responsible for the soldiers. Moreso now than when they were alive.

Malroth shook his head.  _ It's the same now. But for her this time. _ He remembered the confusion he felt when he realized the two halves of himself, struggling to know what thoughts were really his own and which ones were planted. There wasn't any way he could help her avoid that feeling, he knew, but he could still follow Bishop's advice and do whatever he could to stay close to her. Simply be there if or when it invariably went wrong. Act the part until he had a clear strike to rip the parasite off once and for all.

He could only hope they wouldn't bleed when the time came for that.

Taking a deep breath, Malroth stood. He knew he would hate lying to her, but what other choice did he have? It was that or let her go it alone, and there was no way on earth he was going to let that happen if he could avoid it. He knew exactly how that felt, and he was going to do his best to help her avoid that fate. It was the least he could do for everything she'd ever done for him. 

Nodding at the gravestones, Malroth gave brief thanks to the soldiers for their wisdom, and a silent prayer to Rubiss for their souls as well as the road ahead. The wind was cold as it brushed his skin, but he was determined now more than ever.

He was going to save Crea.

Even if it meant destroying himself.


	35. The Forge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth builds some trust.

Hours after the battle, when the monster's bodies had turned back to smoke and the handful of perished soldiers had been buried in the frozen earth, the remaining builders and soldiers piled into one of the completed buildings to huddle for warmth and dinner. Crea had stayed long enough for food and a bath before disappearing back into the renovated church, determined to make it perfect before they returned to Moonbrooke the following day. Malroth dutifully stayed with her, quietly shuffling out of her way whenever she found fault with something near him. She managed to stay civil with him, at least. He counted it as a small victory. 

The night got colder in Moonahan than it did in Moonbrooke, making even hot-blooded Malroth shiver. Crea set up a large fire away from anything flammable, either taking pity on him or needing it herself, he wasn't sure. She had the decency to leave a bed for him too, though she went right back to work once she put it down. Malroth curled up in it anyway after removing his shoes, watching her until she got annoyed with him staring and joined him. He was sure to offer a little praise as he looped his arms around her, making her hum contentedly as she drifted away to sleep. He followed shortly after, determined not to let her disappear in the night. 

In the morning, after everyone and everything was accounted for, Crea, Malroth, and Bishop accompanied the lone wagon on its return trip to the castle. Bishop believed the soldiers and builders to be well defended, especially considering the myriad of traps Crea had made and placed during breakfast. It was clear the monsters and especially the trolls would want revenge, and Crea wasted no time in shouting threats to the mountain, daring them to try. Malroth pretended to laugh.

They returned around noon. Bishop wasted no time recruiting Crea to build a new war room, now that she was free to do so. He walked with her off towards a more open area of the castle, discussing size and other various needs, leaving Malroth alone. Not that he minded– Crea was getting more and more possessive about her building, and someone of his _experience level_ only seemed to irritate her these days. So instead, he wandered.

He was impressed with how familiar it all still was. The wizard's workshop, the armoury, the training room, everything was just the same as it was when they left. Malroth paused in the courtyard though, seeing the open steps leading down into where the dungeon was. The quiet stream seemed to roar in his ears as he stared at the stairs until eventually he managed to turn away, heart beating soundly in his chest. There was no need to look at _that_ again. He was fairly certain he still had every stone memorized of that place. 

His aimless meandering took him to the bell chamber next, noticing the solitary forge in the corner. Malroth almost let himself smile at the image of Ferrum that appeared in his mind, her oft repeated advice likewise echoing through his thoughts, declaring _nothing like beatin' solid heat to help push through some feelings._ But he didn't smile. He only took the nearby shovel in his hand, slowly feeding it with coal and urging the flames to grow. 

The process was familiar and relaxing, working his mind and body into the routine he'd long procrastinated. Occasionally someone would poke their head in at the sounds and see him working at the anvil, and he would dutifully ignore them as they stuttered and hesitated in the doorway. He was pretty sure they wanted to come in and see, but so far the hearts he'd changed were all in Moonahan. It would take them longer here. 

Yet not as long as he thought. 

"Sir Malroth?"

Malroth turned at the voice, seeing a young soldier approach wringing the hem of their garment in their hand despite the typical soldier posture. They looked more nervous than he felt.

"Yes?" he responded, keeping his voice calm.

The soldier straightened their spine, though because of respect or fear he wasn't sure. "Sir," they began. "Respectfully… What are you doing?"

Glancing back at the forge for a moment to make sure the liquid metal wasn't burning, Malroth shrugged. "Metalworking," he said. "Thought I'd try my hand at making some swords. Some of the ones I've seen looked a little dingy, so I thought it couldn't hurt. Well, couldn't hurt _us,_ anyway." He smirked, but it quickly faded at the spark of fear that appeared in the soldier's eye. _Right,_ he thought. _They all still think I'm violent._ "Why do you ask?"

It was a bit of a loaded question, evident by the way their skin paled a little. "Curiosity," they squeaked. 

_Making sure I won't slaughter the castle in their sleep, probably._ Malroth offered a smile anyway, as though he hadn't realized they were lying. "Do you want to see? I'm not very good, but I like to do it. It's one of the few things I can do in terms of building that I don't have to worry about setting on fire, since that's kind of the point."

The soldier relaxed their shoulders just enough for him to notice. Apparently there was _some_ curiosity after all. 

Malroth chuckled, moving closer to the forge to sift off the impurities from the top and pour the liquid steel into an ingot tray for cooling. "Have you ever done something like this before?" 

The soldier shook their head. "No, sir."

"Just Malroth. And you?"

They hesitated. "Torrell, si— uh. My name is Torrell." They flushed pink. 

Malroth grinned. "Well Torrell, it's nice to meet you. Are you about to become our new resident blacksmith? I can't stay here forever, y'know."

Their blush deepened. "But I'm a soldier."

"For now, maybe." He shrugged. "But you can't be a soldier forever either."

Torrell pondered his words, warily staring as they considered it. When they took a careful step forward to draw closer, Malroth smiled. 

"So," he said, ignoring his own instinct to gloat. "Have you ever worked with iron before?"

Malroth was nothing if not thorough. Hyper-aware of the repercussions of such an act, he kindly and slowly explained the concepts of refinement as well as how to create a steel alloy, making sure not to hurry through the basics as Ferrum had made the mistake of doing. Torrell was an avid student, listening intently and asking about details that legitimately impressed Malroth. It wasn't long before they were working together to simply make ingots, Malroth pointing at and instructing on various things but allowing Torrell the pleasure of learning by doing.

It attracted no small number of eyes. 

With the two of them around the forge, Malroth started to get the distinct impression that other folks had started to venture within the bell chamber simply to observe and keep tabs on only him. He understood it, though it didn't keep him from hating it. Torrell was familiar, Malroth was not. It was understandable the people would default to wanting to protect their own. And yet, intermittently, a few would stand nearby to watch. Malroth ignored them at first, focusing on Torrell and the metal they worked with; at least until he realized they too were curious about the process. He would invite them closer to watch, and with a bashful smile they would approach. The judgemental gazes of subsequent visitors lessened with each one that decided to stay for a while. 

It almost felt like watching snow melt in fast motion. None ever stayed for terribly long, but the softened smiles as they departed was enough to ease some of Malroth's tension. Of course, _beatin' solid heat_ helped too, as Ferrum always liked to say. Especially as swords began to take shape with each monumental blow of his crafting hammer. He loved the minor burning in his arms from hard work, and he similarly enjoyed how he could see the improvement in his own work as he finished one sword after another. It was invigorating.

But then the night came. 

"What are you doing?"

Malroth had heard the question all afternoon, but none struck him like it did now when it came from Crea's mouth. He turned, seeing her incredulous and annoyed stare. 

"What's it look like?" Torrell chirped happily from behind Malroth, oblivious to who was asking. "Working some metal and making swords is what!"

"I wasn't asking you," she said plainly, leveling her stare at Malroth. 

"You leave them alone," Malroth growled. "They've done nothing to you."

"Obviously!" Crea scoffed. "Yet you still haven't answered my question!"

"Making swords," he said, rolling his eyes. "I thought seeing me building stuff would make you happy."

"Tch. Swords are going to be ancient relics by the time we leave since no one will need them anymore." She folded her arms. "And then all that work will be for nothing."

"You mean just like a war room?"

"A room can be repurposed!"

"And a sword can't?"

"Not after it's spilled blood!" Crea rolled her eyes again. "Honestly, it's like you're brand new to this."

Malroth had to focus hard to subdue the anger rolling in his gut. She was so callous. And yet, he knew it wasn't her. At least… he _hoped_ it wasn't her.

Scoffing again, she turned and left, leaving the bell chamber towards their bedroom. Malroth exhaled harshly, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Sir Malroth?"

"Just Malroth," he repeated without thinking, defeat creeping into his voice. "Please." He took a long minute to compose himself, but then felt Torrell's hand on his shoulder. 

"Um, s—? I mean… Malroth?"

Malroth looked back at them, feeling tired and defeated. 

They hesitated. "Y'know, when you two first came back it was all anyone would talk about. Builder this and Builder that. But lately everybody's been talking about you instead."

Malroth drooped and Torrell's eyes went wide. 

"No, not like that! Not… It's nothing _bad._ Just…" They stuttered a moment. "People keep saying how different things are now. How the Builder is mean and you're nicer than we thought. How the Builder is arrogant and you're quieter than before. How some people wonder if you swapped brains or something." They stuttered again at Malroth's confused stare. "Never mind. That doesn't matter. She's just acting jealous now like you were last time. That doesn't change how grateful we are that things are different. Or how grateful… I am."

Malroth felt something press at his mind, something that caught his attention in both a subtle and a glaringly obvious way. "Jealous?" he repeated. _Like me?_

Torrell nodded. "Yeah. Like about the traps. The castle talked about that a lot too, last time."

Malroth swiveled his head to look at the door Crea had left through. _Jealous like me…_

He had thought about it at length since then, how he had placed his worth on protecting her and doing things for her. And she had repeatedly told him since then that it didn't matter what he did so long as he was with her. But the traps burned at him for far longer, making him realize much later that Hargon had used that to try to separate them. It sort of worked at the time, but Crea's conviction was stronger and she had reassured him often to keep him close. At least until the mirror and the dungeon both happened so fast that he had almost no choice but to submit to Hargon for as angry as everything made him feel.

 _Is it the same?_ he wondered. _Make her so jealous of me that she separates herself?_

Knowing what he knew of Ketriel, he didn't think it would surprise him one bit. 

Malroth turned back to Torrell. "Um, thanks. Really. I appreciate it. I need to go though. You can manage this, right?"

Torrell shrugged, looking around them at the forge and the various tools scattered about. "I suppose so."

Malroth was already walking before he had finished his own question, carrying his hammer in his hand as he went out into the hallway. To his surprise he found Bishop heading towards the bedroom door, equally surprised to see him.

"Malroth," he greeted. "I hope you are well. I haven't seen you since we returned."

"I'm fine," Malroth said, waving his hand in dismissal. "I need to stay with Crea. Did you need something?"

There was a complicated look in the general's eye– one that signaled reluctance. Malroth didn't know what to make of that. 

"The King requested another war meeting," Bishop said, ignoring whatever his previous concern had been. "He wants updates on Moonahan, as well as to ceremonially celebrate the new war room Crea just accomplished. I thought you both might like to be there."

Malroth nodded. "I'll tell her. Noon again?"

"That is the present plan, yes. I will inform you if anything changes."

"Alright. We'll be ready."

Bishop returned the way he came back to his room, and Malroth continued to his own door. He took a steady breath before pushing it open, allowing himself inside. Crea was already lying on the bed on her back, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression, her shoes and book and bag strewn haphazardly around her nightstand. Malroth hesitated, pushing his back against the now closed door and setting his hammer against the wall.

"What, are you scared of me?"

Malroth could feel the resentment in her voice. "No."

"Then why are you staring?"

"I don't want to bother you."

Crea sat up on her elbows, casting him an unamused look. "You mean like how you bothered me because you stole everybody's attention while I was building?"

Malroth blinked. "Not on purpose…"

"Nobody said anything when I was done since they were all fussing about you with the forge making swords…" She scowled.

"To be fair," Malroth sighed, "they were worried I was making swords so I could murder everyone."

Crea huffed, lying flat on her back again with her hands on her stomach, absentmindedly playing with her pendant. "Maybe you should."

His skin prickled unpleasantly. All of this was _wrong._ It occurred to him how much he missed the normal her. "Crea," he said gently, approaching his side of the bed. She seemed very determined not to look at him. "Crea, I ran into Bishop on the way here. He said tomorrow the King wants another war meeting in the new room. And something about ceremonially celebrating it, as he put it, although I don't know what that means."

She perked up at that. "Oh, good. It's been a while since I built anything here so I suppose that makes sense."

Malroth gingerly climbed onto the bed, propping his arm under his head so he could look at her. "Maybe they wanted it to be a surprise."

"Yeah, maybe." She hummed. "Still, awful way to do it… Make me think everybody ignored it. It's not like I'm getting paid or anything so that's the only thing I have to look forward to." Crea turned and curled up to his side, surprising him. "Thanks. I'll pretend I didn't know."

He nodded, wrapping his arm around her waist and staring at the top of her head. "I hope they do enough to make you happy." 

"Well, if they don't, you will. Right?"

Malroth wasn't sure what exactly she meant by that, but he kissed her forehead anyway. "Yeah."

Crea smiled, nestling closer to his chest as he swallowed carefully. 

"You deserve it."

* * *

_You'd be happier on my island, you know._

_All the fanfare you ever wanted._

_No one could ever steal your spotlight here._

_Especially…_

_If he did not come with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	36. The Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the King presents Malroth with a terrible choice.

The corridors were oddly quiet as Malroth followed Crea and Bishop the following morning, light coming in from the windows that surrounded the courtyard. He thought it strange that no one was lingering in the hallways like usual, though he wondered how much of that was attributed to lunchtime being so close. In either case, things were peaceful. 

Up until they entered the new war room, anyway. 

Excited chatter greeted them for a second before the room's occupants realized who was entering. Fortunately their voices retained their enthusiasm despite dropping in volume, making Malroth feel like maybe they weren't sticking out now as much as they used to. He was glad for that, despite what rumors and gossip could've been circulating about them by now. Though, he admitted to himself, the news of Moonahan could've been overshadowing everything anyway. As he approached the table to observe the map of Moonbrooke, Malroth also realized that the room somehow felt  _ different _ than before. Or really, different from any time he could remember on the island. It was… strange. Energetic, though muted. All odd.

_ Today is already very weird, _ he concluded.

The door burst open again and all conversation immediately halted, everyone standing upright and saluting. Malroth looked over his shoulder to see the King entering, flanked by his guard. It wasn't until he sat that the other occupants sat back down too, only a handful of near-silent whispers permeating the room. Malroth had to look past Crea's smug expression to get a glimpse of Bishop's impenetrable calm, determinedly focused as he counted heads around the room. 

"All are accounted for," he announced, silencing the whispers and drawing all eyes to himself. Bishop turned to the King with a bow of his head. "Your majesty?"

"Thank you, Bishop." The King nodded at him before looking around at the rest of the room. "A few thank yous are in order before we begin. First, thank you for coming. This effort is a monumental task involving all of us, and it would be impossible without your efforts and coordination. Your devotion is admirable and for that I thank you."

Malroth glanced around the room, seeing no expressions change at the King's words. No smiles, just focused listening.

"Second, a specific thank you to Crea and her efforts in building this new room for us—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Malroth saw her smile widen and her chest puff out.

"—since the throne room was getting a mite small. It is every bit as perfect as I imagined! I would invite you to take something from the treasury, would that we had one." He chuckled. "But, since we do not, I hope everyone will assist me in thanking her instead." 

There was enthusiastic though polite clapping from around the table, making Crea beam. Malroth was secretly and intensely relieved that it had been enough praise for her. He reached over to grab her hand, squeezing it as he smiled, making her smile grow wider even though she didn't look at him.

"Very good," the King said as the clapping stopped. "Now onto the reports. Marissa, if you please."

The stern-looking woman from last time nodded, then turned her attention to the table. "The reports from Moonahan continue to come back positive," she began. "After the large attack two days ago under General Bishop's command, the soldiers there continue to hold off small attacks from the monsters. Admittedly the forces are small, only to attack for a few minutes and then retreat. It's unclear what the purpose of such a tactic would be."

Malroth frowned. Small attacks?  _ And _ retreating? "With no casualties to either side?" he asked.

Marissa nodded. "It is strange, but as I said, we cannot fathom why the monsters would go through such effort without legitimately and actively destroying anything, humans or selves included."

"Preparation for another larger attack, perhaps?" Bishop suggested. 

"Potentially," she agreed. "That, or the monsters are really as ill-prepared as we dared to hope."

"Have the trolls been back?" Malroth asked. 

Marissa frowned. "I don't believe we've gotten a report about any trolls returning, no. Why?"

"They were the ones that seemed in charge," he explained. "Arrogant. Cowardly. If they're not back for the fighting, they're planning something. Or at least trying to figure something out about Moonahan."

"Tch," Crea scoffed under her breath. "At least they're not destroying my stuff."

Bishop huffed, not hearing Crea's comment. "Be that as it may, we still must decide our next course of action. What do you suggest?"

Marissa straightened her back, standing more at attention. "Surely more reinforcements to Moonahan would not go awry, nor would reinforcing the castle structure here. Perhaps further distraction trying to rebuild Moonport could also fracture their forces, causing them to divide in an attempt to subdue our building efforts."

"Or we could wait and see what they do next," Malroth muttered. "Monsters aren't patient, so they could easily do something stupid to expose themselves."

A pause followed, and Malroth dared look up from the map. Everyone else seemed to be engrossed in trying to think of an explanation or solution, blank and focused stares transfixed on different parts of the map. He was oddly satisfied to know the pointed stares at the map weren't simply to avoid him this time. 

"Perhaps a bit of both," Bishop suggested. "Reinforce both towns while we wait for their next move. Prepare ourselves for the worst, as they say. Better too much defense than not enough."

Satisfied murmurs agreed around the table.

"Very well," the King declared. "We shall lead a reinforcement operation here forthwith and assist Moonahan when the castle is satisfactorily secure. These meetings will continue regularly until the opportunity to strike presents itself. Crea, if you would be so kind as to lead the reinforcement process—"

"No."

All eyes turned widely to Crea, who in turn smiled sweetly at the King.

In turn, the King looked bewildered. "I beg your pardon?" 

"I said no, I don't think so," Crea snorted. "I definitely have more important things to work on than that. Besides, you guys know how to build. You can figure it out just fine."

Malroth felt the air squeeze out of his lungs.  _ Oh no… _

In the startled silence that followed, the King couldn't help but sputter. "But you're a builder!" he cried. "A Master Builder no less! You're here to help us, are you not? It is your duty!"

"Well I happen to be my own boss now, so I only take orders from me. And I have other things I want to do instead, so I'm saying no." Crea folded her arms across her chest in defiance. "You can't tell me what to do now,  _ beardy. _ Nobody tells me what to do anymore."

"Beardy?!" the King shouted.

"You watch your tone!" Bishop declared. "No one should speak to the King so callously, least of all you!"

"Why?" Crea scoffed. "Do you really think you're gonna arrest the only Master Builder in the world for doing what she wants? I built  _ all _ of this and it'd be easy to take it all back…" She smirked cruelly, her lips smug and wide. "So take note, hm? I said no. And you should probably let me do what I want, considering my building power. And as far as I'm concerned, since I've put more work into this place, builders rank higher than kings. You should consider yourselves lucky I'm not trying to take advantage of that." She sneered at the King, basking in the wake of everyone's mortified stares as she turned on her heel and walked away. 

The King watched Crea as she left, regarding her coolly until she was out the door. Malroth sighed quietly a few stunned seconds later, turning to follow after her.

"Malroth." The King's voice struck him in the heart, making him freeze. "A word, if you please."

Heart beating soundly in his chest, Malroth watched as the King stood and left the chamber, once again flanked by his two guards. He followed them out, padding silently through the hallways and into the empty throne room. The guards hung back at the doors and closed them once Malroth was inside, and the King turned at the foot of the stairs before the throne, regarding him carefully. For a moment, Malroth almost thought it looked like pity.

"I refuse to make the same mistake that I did the last time you were here," the King said. "While a threat like that from anyone else would be regarded as a liability, she is correct in that she is not exactly under my rule."

Malroth felt his blood run cold. "What are you saying?"

The King pursed his lips. "As you are the one closest to her, I request your judgement on how to proceed. If there was a way to placate her, you would know."

"Are you asking my permission to put her in the dungeon?" he growled softly. "Just like you did to me?"

The King sighed. "You heard what she said. I do not regard that only as a threat to me, but a direct threat to the entire castle. While I do not wish to harm her, I will not let her speak with impunity."

Malroth clenched his jaw.

"I admit I'm surprised by her words," the King added thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that you were the violent and impulsive one, not her."

Malroth felt anger prickle under his skin. "Do you wanna know what happened after we left last time?" he growled. "How I ran off once we got back to the Isle, how I got kidnapped by Hargon himself, how we learned that my violence was enhanced by the literal God of Destruction attached to my soul?"

The King's eyes widened.

"How eventually through Crea's efforts we defeated him, and when we came back from literal monster hell we had to keep the illusion from falling apart? I'm guessing you remember a day like that, where the sky went dark and you just knew the end was coming."

"Yes." The King visibly swallowed. "I remember such a day."

Malroth felt his heart beat painfully now, all the muscles in his chest likewise constricting. "I didn't tell anyone back then, but I could hear Hargon in my head when we were here. Encouraging my violence. Driving me out of my own mind. Now  _ she's _ the one with something in her head, telling her she's better than everyone else, grooming her for some... thing. I don't know, she won't tell me." He exhaled harshly, his voice dropping. "She hasn't told me a lot of things since we've been here."

"Then perhaps time in the dungeon would be prudent, would it not?" the King asked. "If she is in danger from this voice, wouldn't time away from other people and building especially lessen its grip?"

Malroth clenched his fists at his side, looking away. "Removing me from violence didn't help me," he murmured. "It just made me angrier. Justified that everyone was out to get me. Crea included."

"I cannot just let her go free for threatening everyone like that!" the King shouted.

"I know," Malroth sighed, slumping his shoulders and letting his tension melt into a heavy weight that hung around his neck. "I know. Just... give me until tomorrow. I'll... I'll try to talk to her."

"No." The King spoke firmly, shaking his head. "Sunset tonight. That threat was too great to give until tomorrow. She must apologize directly to me, else she will be imprisoned for matters relating to treachery. If I do not hear from you before then, I will send my guard to make the decision for you."

Malroth nodded, staring at the floor and rubbing his arm.

The King sighed, walking forward to put a hand on Malroth's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

_ If you were sorry, you would help me, not threaten me,  _ he thought, though he nodded again instead. The King patted him once before heading back out through the throne doors, leaving Malroth alone. He took a deep breath, trying to straighten his spine and saw the side door. He exhaled heavily and began to walk, his mind reeling. 

_ What am I supposed to say to her?  _

The bell chamber was empty, early afternoon light streaming through the window, and his anxiety grew the closer he got to the hallway. He felt lost. An apology? She was going to hate that, considering she was stubbornly waiting on apologies for the last time they were here. But even then there was the issue of making her seem sincere about it even if she wasn't, which Malroth highly suspected would be the case. What was left? Spontaneously helping her leave so they could go to Ketriel's island now? 

Walking into the hallway, Malroth paused as he saw Bishop's small room off to the left. He hesitated for a moment as he second guessed himself, but then ultimately changed direction. If anyone needed to know what was about to happen, it was definitely him. 

Malroth knocked and took a step back, staring down at the threshold. A minute passed and he started to wonder if Bishop had even returned from the council yet. He was so reluctant to go back to the bedroom that he waited a minute longer before the door eventually opened. Malroth looked up in surprise, seeing Bishop in plainclothes. 

"Apologies," Bishop said, slightly bowing as he adjusted his shirt. "You caught me in the middle of removing armor." He stepped aside, beckoning Malroth inside. 

"I could've helped," he said. 

"True," Bishop agreed. "But uh, once started it gets difficult to move around. Such as, to the door."

Malroth took his place in the same chair as before, exhaling as he sat. He felt strange, to say the least. Emotions he didn't know how to describe. 

"Is something the matter?" Bishop asked, a dark eyebrow raising in question.

Malroth stared at his hands. "The King," he croaked.

"What of him?"

"Told me to do it," he whispered, still not believing it. "He said I need to make Crea apologize."

"For the threat, I presume."

Malroth nodded. "Or else he'll imprison her."

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room now that he'd said it out loud. Bishop was still as a stone, simply staring. Malroth couldn't raise his eyes. 

"What do you intend on doing?" Bishop asked quietly. 

"I don't know," Malroth said, shaking his head. "I don't know what I can say to make her do it. Especially if I'm trying to stay close to her. It's like… Should I pretend I didn't know and let that happen? Do I risk actually asking her to apologize? Do we run? Would she even see leaving as an option? Her stubbornness is even worse now, she may just see it as another challenge to  _ prove her worth _ or some bullshit."

The room was quiet and still for a long time, at least until Bishop moved to tug his chair in front of Malroth, allowing them to sit knee to knee. Malroth sighed as Bishop set his hand on his leg within his line of sight, trying to comfort him.

"I know you said in order to stay close I would have to make questionable decisions or agree with things I might secretly hate," Malroth whispered. "But what if  _ all _ the available options could backfire? What if there isn't a way for me to stay close? How do I stay close enough then?"

Bishop was silent for a moment, squeezing Malroth's knee. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. It only made Malroth droop. "You know her best."

"She'll hate me no matter what I do," he muttered. "Just like there was nothing she could do to keep me from Hargon and my anger. Even if she could have managed to keep me from speaking out and keep people from being afraid of me, or even if she realized that I was losing myself and tried to protect me somehow that way, it was just… impossible." Malroth sighed. "Even if she'd broken me out of the dungeon as soon as they put me in it, I still would have left. I still would've been angry because she allowed that to happen in the first place. And because of the mirror thing too… My own anger was a destructive tool for Hargon to separate me from her. I'm sure Ketriel is no different." He sighed again, shaking his head. "There was no easy way out for her. Why should there be for me?"

Bishop was silent, trying to reassure him by presence alone but ultimately not knowing how to do so. Ultimately he simply continued to hold Malroth's knee, trying to give him comfort in a friend, if nothing else. Someone to listen even if neither of them were talking. The silence hung on for several minutes until a nervous breath made Bishop look up.

"Promise me something," Malroth mumbled. 

"Anything," was Bishop's immediate reply.

"If the King sends you to come for her…" He swallowed harshly. "Pretend to restrain me."

"What?"

"She knows I would fight off a horde of a thousand monsters if I felt she was in real danger," Malroth explained quietly, still staring at his hands in his lap. "If nothing is holding me back, she'll know I knew ahead of time. If I'm supposed to stay in her good graces…"

"So you'll pretend that you didn't know?" Bishop asked. 

He shrugged halfheartedly. "If I can play it off right, I think that's my safest option…"

"I understand." Bishop nodded sadly. "I promise. And—" He hesitated. "And I'm sorry."

Malroth could only keep nodding, the anxiety and sadness and confusion all swelling in his gut. Then, after several minutes spent calming himself, he sighed and looked up, seeing Bishop's sadness almost tangible in his eyes. "Yeah," Malroth said finally, slowly rising to his feet. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~keyboard smash intensifies~~


	37. The Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth chooses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heavy breathing*

"What took you so long?"

Malroth sighed, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance as he set his back against the closed door. He looked to see Crea, sprawled on the bed and propped up on her elbows to see him as he entered the bedroom. "They wouldn't let me leave," he complained. "Kept wanting to talk about fortifying against the monsters when I just wanted to go with you. Something about needing my opinion on the monsters or something, I don't know. I didn't pay attention." He shuffled over to his chair by the fireplace and fell onto it with a heavy sigh. 

Crea smirked. "They got a little lost without me, huh?"

"Tell me about it." Malroth rubbed at his eyes with a groan.  _ I'm a little lost without you too. _

"I admit it felt good to deny him like that," she said, flopping on her back to stare at the ceiling. "Sorta makes up for the  _ no _ I should've said for the dungeon, too."

Dropping his hands to his lap, he nodded even though she wasn't looking. He swallowed heavily. "Dismantling the castle was a nice touch, although a little bit extreme for my taste."

"Yeah, you liked that?" Crea grinned, happily interlacing her fingers behind her head. "I mean, that's a lot of work even for me, so of  _ course  _ I wouldn't do it. But they've gotta know I mean business somehow. Plus the looks on their faces were pretty priceless." She giggled. 

Malroth sighed, exaggeratedly falling back to slump in his chair. "Unfortunately, I think they took you seriously."

She craned her head to look at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "I can't say for sure, but the King got this look after you left and he was muttering with his guard the whole rest of the meeting and his expression didn't change at all. Didn't pay attention to any of the Moonahan stuff after that." Malroth shrugged. "Of course, I didn't either. I was too paranoid about the King potentially conspiring about something-or-other in broad daylight."

"Are you serious?" Crea rolled her eyes. "Ugh. They need to get a grip."

"Maybe you could apologize," Malroth said. "Just in case."

"For what?" she grumbled. "Being right? Their rules don't apply to me. Who can stop me?"

"Crea, don't—" His voice caught suddenly, making him swallow harshly to try again. "Don't do this right now. We don't want a repeat of… last time. Maybe just pretend to apologize and we'll be out of here in a few days."

"Are you  _ joking?" _ She scowled at the ceiling. "I'd apologize if I was wrong, but  _ this? _ Why is it my fault that they couldn't take a joke?"

Malroth felt his throat tighten.  _ A bad joke. A cruel joke. _ "I'm afraid what they might do to hurt you," he admitted quietly. "Or me. This place isn't safe. It's never been safe for us here."

Crea softened for a split second. It made him ache when her flippancy returned. "Well, deal with it for a little longer. Only a few days, like you said. The monsters will slip up and we'll destroy them and they'll be able to build all the little towns and hamlets they could ever dream of." She waved her hand dismissively. "They've already shown they don't need me for that."

"Does that bother you?"

"What?" 

"Does that bother you," he repeated, "that they can build without you."

"Why would that bother me?" she wondered aloud. "Everything I build is vastly better, so it's not like they can build anything to be impressed by. They could only dream of building at my level. I could never be jealous of anything anybody else makes." She chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "No, the sooner we can leave, the better. If they can build their own rinky-dink towns, that's fine by me. More time for me to focus on  _ important _ things."

Malroth wanted to ask what important builder projects she meant by that, but he couldn't find it within himself to bother. Instead, the gentle crackle of the fire took over the room, infiltrating his thoughts as he stared down his shirt at the floor. Eventually he looked up to glance at Crea and the bed, and his eyes instead fell on Damara's letter still resting on the small table where he'd left it. Tentatively he reached for it and unfurled it on his lap once more, letting his eyes trail over the bullet points in the middle. 

_ If ever a problem seems too big to handle, sleep on it. It'll look better in the morning.  _

He scoffed under his breath.  _ I don't have until the morning,  _ he thought, looking up at Crea still sprawled on the bed.  _ I only have a few hours.  _

He pondered the idea for a minute longer.  _ Still… _

"Crea?" he asked gently. She lifted her head to look at him, and he hesitated. "I'm a little tired. Do you want to nap with me?"

"Nap?" she echoed, propping herself up on her elbows again. "Are you feeling okay? Usually  _ you _ aren't the one asking for naps."

"I know." Malroth sighed. "But this place stresses me out and I need to relax."

"I could relax you another way if you want," she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively. 

He shook his head with a sigh. "I don't have the energy for that."

"Fine…" Crea shifted from her place in the middle of the mattress. "Come on then."

Gratefully, Malroth rose from his place and climbed into bed with her, settling next to her arm. She tried to roll away, but he took careful hold of her wrist before she could go too far. 

"Please stay," he whispered. "It's not the same without you."

"But I need to build," she complained, pouting.

"I know…" He sighed. "But you need rest too. And… And I need you. To sleep. I just get worried, you know that. Remember?"

Crea rolled her eyes but twisted back towards him into his embrace. He hugged her softly, feeling their feet intertwine as she slipped her hand beneath his jacket to hold him close. How much he missed her…

"Thanks," he whispered. "I love you…"

But she was already asleep, the weight of the meeting and building settling on her eyes to force them closed. Malroth sighed silently, pressing his lips in a kiss to her forehead. 

He hoped beyond hope that when he woke up, it would all have been a dream.

* * *

Urgent and banging knocks on the door woke them up some hours later, making Malroth bolt upright in surprise. Crea groaned beside him and the banging returned, an unfamiliar voice shouting at them from the other side of the door.

"Open up! In the name of the King!"

Crea grumbled unhappily. "What the f—"

The door burst open and Malroth reacted by instinct, positioning himself on hands and knees over Crea's body. Six armed guards adorned in red entered, staring them down impassively. 

Malroth growled. "What the hell is this about?"

Bishop walked in a second later, hands clasped behind his back, looking down on them coolly. Two more guards followed behind him dressed in yellow.

"Bishop!" Malroth demanded. "What the hell is this?"

"The King has ordered the arrest of the builder," he said flatly, his voice betraying no emotion. "Surrender her and no harm will befall you."

"Told you he wasn't your friend," Crea complained under her breath. 

Malroth grit his teeth. "On what grounds?"

"For the endangerment of the King, its people, and Moonbrooke castle itself. In short, treachery."

"Treachery!" Crea exclaimed. "For a joke?"

"The King takes no chances on threats of that magnitude,  _ builder." _ Bishop pursed his lips. "Malroth. Please step aside."

"No!" he shouted. "You can't!" 

"We can and we must." Bishop took a measured step forward. "I will only say this once more, Malroth: Step. Aside."

"Never!" he spat. "This is wrong and you know it!"

Bishop glanced to his side, signaling three red guards with a flick of his head. They advanced around the bed, hands up and heads down like they planned to wrestle. 

"Bishop!" Malroth yelled. His head swiveled as he tried to keep an eye on all three guards, sitting back on his knees and his hands going up as if that alone would stop them. "You're making a mistake, don't do this!"

"You do not get to make that decision!" Bishop bellowed. "Apprehend him."

A guard lunged for Malroth's extended arm while he was distracted, grabbing him at his wrist and elbow. Malroth growled out of instinct, throwing his other arm at the guard's head to try to get him to let go. But the guard held firm, yanking hard enough to make him lose his balance and send him tumbling off the bed.

"Malroth!" Crea cried.

At once the other two guards were upon him, holding his arms behind his back and sitting on him to keep him in place. Malroth struggled for a second before realizing it was useless. "Bishop!" he screamed again. "Don't touch her! Leave her alone!"

"Too late for that, I'm afraid." Bishop flicked his head at the other three guards and they circled around the bed too, out of Malroth's line of sight. 

"Don't touch me!" Crea screamed. Only the sounds of struggle met his ears. 

He swallowed the regret that burned his throat. "Crea!" he shouted.

She came into view a moment later, each arm being pulled by a separate guard as she struggled, lurching, digging her feet against the floor to try to keep from moving forward. They stopped in front of Bishop who then motioned at the two yellow guards behind him. They came to the front with rope in both their hands. 

She understood immediately, eyes widening. "Let me go!" Crea screeched, trying in vain to pull her wrists apart as they forced them together with the rope. "I'll burn this place to the ground you put me in that dungeon! How dare you!! Malroth!  _ Malroth!" _

"Crea!" he shouted in response, grunting under the strain of three guards. He watched as they tied her hands together. "I'll get you out, I promise! No matter what it takes!"

"Why would you do this to me?" she shouted, turning her wrath back to the guards as they pushed her forward to walk again. "You bastards! Do you have any idea what you're doing?!  _ Malroth!" _

"Crea…!" He yelled weakly, his heart pounding against the stone floor as she was finally pulled through the door, around the corner and out of sight. 

Malroth set his forehead on the floor, hearing her agitated shouts and screams echo around the corridor and back into the room. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the sound, and it wasn't long before Bishop's fast footfalls caught his attention and focus.

"Get off," Bishop commanded, shooing the guards from off Malroth's back as he fell to his knees in front of him. "Malroth, my friend. Are you alright?"

Malroth groaned, setting his hands on either side of his ribcage as if he were going to get up, but kept them motionless with his face against the floor. He breathed heavily for a few seconds, letting his eyes close.

Bishop hesitated, putting his hand on Malroth's shoulder. "Malroth?"

He shook his head. "Crea," he moaned. 

Bishop signaled to the guards, dismissing them. They left and shut the door behind them, leaving everything silent and empty for Bishop to turn back with concern etched into his expression. "Malroth, please. Are you hurt? That was a nasty tumble earlier, I'm sorry."

"I'm fine," he wheezed, finally making the attempt to sit back on his knees, his hands still resting flat on the floor. "I'm fine. I'm not hurt. I'm just… I don't know. I'm fine."

Bishop's eyebrows turned up in concern. "I would imagine you mean upset. Or worried. For Crea."

It was a vast understatement, but he was too tired to care. Malroth nodded with a slight growl, feeling his muscles complaining. "Always, these days."

The silence was deafening, leaving them to hear nothing but their hearts in their ears. Both were unmoving, keeping their eyes locked on each other or the floor. 

Then, several minutes later, Malroth finally spoke. "I need to talk to her."

"Not until tomorrow," Bishop urged. "If we're going to make this as realistic as possible for her to believe you, then our current plan of action would be to keep a close eye on you to make sure you don't try anything drastic."

Malroth scoffed. "You sound like you spent some time thinking about this."

"I'm a paranoid man serving in the highest position as a product of a lifelong generation-spanning war. I've been thinking about it since you left my room five hours ago."

"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Right."

"I've already thought of covers and alibis," Bishop continued. "We would keep you under a modified form of house arrest for a little while, as though making sure you don't leave your room until we were sure you wouldn't bring any harm to Moonbrooke while she was contained. Then, if we allowed you to see her, bringing food or what have you— we're still going to feed her, don't give me that look— then you won't be able to go down there with weapons or any other supplies than what we would authorize you to take with you. She won't be able to accuse you of not helping since it's me and Moonbrooke from keeping such a close eye on you that you can't do anything that would potentially help her break out."

Nodding again, Malroth stared mindlessly at the floor, his face frozen in concentration as he stared at nothing. 

Bishop sighed at his strange expression, not understanding what thoughts might lurk behind it. "You need to rest," he said quietly.

Malroth leaned back to sit on his feet, blinking himself out of his stupor before looking determinedly at the general. "I won't sleep, y'know." He abruptly remembered his thought from earlier, that he wished it would all be a dream. At this point it had moved into a nightmare and he wished he could wake up from that too.

"But you must." Bishop moved to his side, pulling under Malroth's arm to help him stand. "Come on. Up you come."

He moved instinctively with Bishop's grip on his arm, not having energy or concentration to resist. Everything was wrong, and he needed to fix it. He needed to stay  _ close _ to her. That was all he could think about now. Bishop helped him to the side of the bed, and Malroth leaned against it for a few seconds before carefully rolling on top.

"Rest now," Bishop urged, patting Malroth's shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow, fear not."

He looked up to see Bishop's softened face, creased with worry. Bishop gave a knowing nod and Malroth sighed in frustration and defeat, letting his head fall to the pillow and his eyes drift closed. No matter where he looked behind his eyelids or how long he focused on his growing confusion and anger, he could still see the scene playing out in his mind again and again, Crea's screams still echoing in his ears.

* * *

_ He betrayed you. _


	38. The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth gets a chance to talk to Crea and finds something interesting.

The night was restless, filled with nightmares of prison cells. Malroth woke with terrified gasps each time before slowly remembering where he was, but then he would likewise remember why he was alone, and he would growl with all the pent up frustration in his heart before rolling over to begin the process again.  _ This is damn Ketriel's fault, _ he thought angrily at some point close to 3 in the morning.  _ Damn voice with his damn island and his damn sob story. Damn him!  _

Malroth's anger did not subside despite how much he cursed him. 

In the morning, Bishop returned as he promised. He let himself inside the room carrying a tray of assorted foods for breakfast. Malroth sat up when he heard him enter and sat cross legged on the bed, eyeing him as neutrally as he could.

Bishop winced imperceptibly. "You didn't sleep, I presume," he said, seeing the dark circles underneath his eyes and the disdain masked as apathy inside them.

"No." Malroth shook his head, his gaze not leaving him. "Just like I told you."

Bishop brought the tray over on the bed, setting the spread of food between them. It was elaborate to say the least, complete with nearly every breakfast food Malroth had ever heard of as well as a kettle of hot water and several tea bags on the side. "Then dine with me. Things are  always better after a hot meal ."

Malroth scoffed, remembering Damara's letter again. "Nothing about today can get better, food or not." He reached for the toast regardless, crunching down and not bothering to close his mouth as he chewed. "What's the deal to getting her out, anyway? Last time it was just the death of the actual traitor to help clear my name. Plus you needed help fighting Atlas. What about her?"

Bishop swallowed his small mouthful of a sausage. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I haven't yet met with the King since the arrest. He may merely keep her there until she issues him an apology in person, or until she promises to leave in peace. Once the monsters are vanquished, I could see that as a sensible outcome. That said, unfortunately I cannot say with any reasonable certainty what the King may decree."

"Typical," Malroth muttered, finishing his toast and reaching for a small plate of eggs covered in cheese. "Do you think you'll meet with him soon?"

"I can arrange it." Bishop took a small bite of sausage, thoroughly chewing and swallowing before speaking once more. "I suppose you intend on telling her once you find out?"

"The sooner we get off this island, the better," Malroth said, thoughtlessly stabbing eggs with his fork. "The sooner I can find Ketriel's idiot face, the sooner I can punch his stupid teeth in. He wants her to come to his island when we're finished here. If I can help her get off this stupid rock any faster, I plan on doing it."

Silence followed and Malroth looked up. Bishop was staring at his plate as he ate, his expression surprisingly indifferent and neutral. 

"What?" Malroth asked, albeit sharper than he intended.

"Have you eaten enough?" he asked, making Malroth blink at the abruptness of the question.

"I wasn't really hungry, so yeah, probably."

"Very well." Bishop stood, leaving his dirtied plate on the table and turning towards the door. "I'm going to need you to carry the tray for me."

Malroth raised his eyebrow, sliding off the bed and doing as instructed. "Why?"

Bishop walked slowly, nobly, hands clasped behind his back and not turning as he spoke. "I would imagine Crea is hungry."

His stomach flip-flopped at those words, feeling slightly dizzy at the thought. Malroth followed him through the empty corridors, taking the long walk around the outskirts of the courtyard before they could finally enter it. Bishop crossed the bridge over the little river, but Malroth stopped in the middle, his heart beating fast as he saw the descending stairs. 

"Malroth?"

He looked up at the mention of his name, seeing Bishop's curious expression on him. "Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head and stepping forward again. "Nervous."

Bishop nodded. "Understandably." He waited for Malroth to be closer before dropping his voice to a whisper. "In the interest of keeping our stories straight, we have confiscated both your and her hammer. Also her bag. We're allowing you to bring her food that we have prepared so that you remain in line and nonviolent, all so you can see her. You can take as little or as much time as you need."

Malroth nodded absently, still staring at the stairs. 

Bishop turned and nodded at the guard in yellow, raising his voice back to normal. "Leave the tray, we'll collect it later. There's probably enough food there to last her a few meals."

Nodding again, Malroth finally looked up at Bishop's neutral expression. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Bishop sniffed, his face unreadable as he moved around him to cross back over the bridge. "Don't thank me yet," he muttered, leaving Malroth alone. 

A long minute passed as Malroth inched closer to the top steps, his heart pounding as he saw further and further down below. He must've been staring a long time, because the guard eventually sneered.

"Can fight a quadrillion monsters and Atlas himself, but a flight of stairs is what almost makes you collapse?"

Malroth shot an angry look at the guard. "Shut up," he growled.  _ "You're _ not the one who lived in this very dungeon for almost an entire week by himself."

The guard scoffed but fell silent. Malroth huffed, using his frustration to move his feet and begin his descent down the stairs into the dungeon. 

"You guards better let me out of here, you snot-nosed bastards!" Crea screamed from around the corner. "You're all gonna pay for keeping me here, do you understand? I was joking before but I'm sure as hell not joking now, I'll make you all pay!"

Malroth felt his heart stop as he turned the corner, tightly gripping the tray as his frustration evaporated. "Crea," he murmured.

She looked up at her name, her fury dissipating when she saw him but she still didn't look pleased. "Oh. Hi. Sorry."

The room looked exactly as he remembered, causing strange feelings in him at being on this side of the bars instead of the other. Malroth moved forward quietly, kneeling at the bars and placing the tray next to it so she could reach. 

"Finally," she muttered darkly, crawling from her place on the back wall towards the bars. She started eating with enthusiasm and gave no further thought to him for the moment, entirely focused on getting bites to her mouth through the bars. Malroth moved to lean against the side, simply watching her eat. He rested his head in such a way he could only see her hands moving in and out, picking at the different platters of food. 

When her hands paused, Malroth was dimly aware she had asked a question. "What?"

Crea huffed. "I said, where's your hammer?"

"Confiscated," he said sadly. "Both of them. And your bag. They won't let me come down with anything but what they give me."

She raised her eyebrow. "You asked?"

Malroth simply nodded, making her sigh in annoyance with an eye roll. 

"Typical," Crea scoffed. "I get a repeat of Skelkatraz and my man on the outside won't help me. Gotta finagle this on my own."

Frustration bubbled up again from his gut. "It's not that I  _ won't, _ it's that I  _ can't, _ yet," he challenged. "You don't think they won't throw me in there with you if I do something to piss them off? Then how do you think we would get out of here?"

She shrugged. "Wait for them to realize they're idiots for putting me in here, probably."

He growled. "If they trust me, maybe they'll let me take you off the island a lot sooner than that. Then we can still go to Ketriel within a reasonable timeframe."

"Oh, changed your mind on that, did you?" She sneered. "As if."

Malroth felt his blood run cold. "I told you," he growled. "Anywhere you go, I go."

"Didn't follow me in here, did you?"

"Do you want me to be even more useless?" he snapped. "At least out here I can  _ try _ to negotiate."

Crea rolled her eyes, taking another bite of food and staring down at the plate.  _ "Try _ being the operative word. Assuming you can."

"Yeah," Malroth muttered. "Damn stubborn King."

"Don't let them hear you say that," she scoffed. "They'll chuck you in here for that, no doubt. Make up some stuff about treachery to justify it too, probably, like me."

"They didn't have to make up anything for you."

Crea whipped her gaze up to him with murder in her eyes. "So you're on their side?" she challenged. 

Malroth rolled his eyes. "You threatened to  _ destroy _ them, Crea! Coming from a Builder so admired as you? Of course that would terrify them!"

"They should fear what I'll do to them now that they dared to imprison me!" She snarled, clenching her jaw. 

"And if they find out how committed you are to destroying them, they'll  _ definitely _ never let you out." Malroth grit his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath before speaking again. "We have work elsewhere, Crea. If we don't play this right then you'll rot in here and I refuse to let that happen. I'm going to do whatever I can—" He stopped abruptly. "Do you remember my promise?"

Crea stabbed at food on her plate, not looking up. 

"Do you?"

"Yes, geez, I remember," she grumbled. 

"What did I say?"

She was quiet for several minutes, making him wonder if she'd forgotten. "You promised to protect me," she finally muttered under her breath. "That you'd never let anything hurt me."

"I still mean that," Malroth said, gripping the bar between them. "I'm with you forever.  _ Nothing _ will hurt you."

Mindlessly Crea kept stabbing at her food, still stubbornly refusing to look at him. After a long minute he sighed.

"Crea—"

"You should go," she said, only raising her voice enough to talk over him. "You don't want them suspecting you of anything."

Malroth stared at her bowed head for a moment, trying to understand. But she didn't look up for him to read her face. "I'm not gonna leave you."

"Well you sure as hell can't stay down here, can you?" She snorted. "I'll be fine. Not like I can do much else down here, can I?"

He pursed his lips. "I'll try to talk to the King," he said quietly, leaning back on his knees in order to stand. "Then I'll try to be back later so I can tell you about it."

"Don't hold your breath," Crea muttered. 

Malroth stood fully, a sinking feeling increasing in his gut. "You know I love you, right?"

"So you've said."

Her dismissal felt like a knife in his lungs, but he swallowed it back. "I'll be back soon," he whispered. "I promise."

Crea was still and silent for too long, making him realize he wasn't going to get a response. Malroth sighed, turning on his heel and ascending the stone steps. He hated leaving her alone down there, but he had to be realistic with himself– he couldn't stay. Not for that long.

It was quiet as he trekked back to his room. The light through Bishop's window was dark, so he passed it without thinking. With any luck, Bishop would be talking to the King right about now. With more luck, he'd have his answer in a couple of hours. With  _ his _ luck, however, it wouldn't be until night. Or worse, tomorrow. Malroth sighed, returning into his room and sitting in his chair, staring at the fireplace to try to distract his mind. 

It didn't work. Malroth tried his best to space out, to not consider the craziness that was happening around him, but his mind wouldn't stop filtering through previous events over and over again. He instead tried to stand and pace around to work off his excess energy, but the room was too small and his energy too great for that to last long. Eventually he spotted Crea's bag on the nightstand where she'd left it. Given that Bishop and his men had been merely acting the part of heartless jailers, there hadn't been any need to take Crea's things and keep them for themselves. Malroth had Bishop's trust, and he planned to keep that together as much as possible. Still, he was feeling desperate. Or nostalgic. It was surprisingly difficult to tell the difference. 

Pulling the bag onto the bed with him, Malroth set it between his knees and started to rummage through it. Magic in general set his hair on end, and poking through the hundreds of pockets inside the bag proved to be no different. On the other hand, it felt strangely normal and almost comforting. Crea always knew where everything was inside her meticulously organized bag, but even still it would often take her several seconds to find what she needed despite how organized it was. It was reassuring that he could take so much time to look through everything, knowing Crea would take similar time if she were to do the same. His sentimentality, however, grabbed him at every turn. The bottomless pot, old hammers, the echo flute, battered swords– it all reminded him of a different time. He didn't think he could accurately say it was a  _ better _ time considering Hargon was still around back then. But it was different, he could at least say that. 

Malroth's breath froze when his fingers brushed smooth metal in another pocket deep towards the bottom, the green glint of paint on gold taking the air right from his lungs. He felt fear to even touch it again, his brain stunned to silence as he tried to coax himself to pull it out. Eventually, gingerly, as though it would burn him, he did so with only the tips of his fingers, hurriedly laying Ra's Mirror flat on the bed and reflecting up at the ceiling. His stomach twisted painfully to see the familiar green and gold interspersed with blue gems, the glint of the glass in the center almost pleading with him to take a peek. It seemed to call to his mind:  _ Just a glimpse…  _

He remembered all too well the feeling of betrayal when Crea had aimed it at him first, followed by the overwhelming embarrassment he'd felt at everyone else's confusion when he had no reflection. As if the feelings of  _ otherness _ weren't strong enough already. 

But now…

_ Would I still be empty?  _

Now was entirely different. 

Malroth stared at the mirror for what felt like hours. It was a war of emotion-fueled options, trying to decide if he could simply flip it over to hide its gaze, or cram it back in Crea's bag, or break it, or worst of all, look at it. But the longer he looked, the more his curiosity grew, and his heart started to beat so strongly in his chest that he knew what he wanted to do.

_ I want to know.  _

Aware of his trembling hands, Malroth could only reach forward slowly, his fingers wrapping around the edge of Ra's Mirror.

* * *

_ He will betray you again.  _


	39. The Mirror and the Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth looks in the mirror. And rides a horse.

A knock at the door startled Malroth from his focus on the mirror, yelping and instinctively bringing his hands back to his chest to protect them. Immediately he was already shaking his head and chiding himself, thinking himself stupid for having panicked at a simple knock on the door. "Yeah?" he called, trying to hide the surprise in his voice. 

"It's me. May I enter?"

Malroth swallowed heavily at Bishop's voice, dropping his hands to his lap. "Yeah," he repeated. 

The door swung open carefully and the general in all his regimented glory slipped inside as though he were trying to be a thief. Malroth made sure to watch him intently, determined not to look at the mirror on the bed. Bishop exhaled when the door was closed, leaning against the wall. 

"I came as soon as I could," he breathed lightly. "The King had a great many things to discuss."

"Good things, I hope." 

"Mostly mild logistical things, truthfully," he admitted, standing upright away from the wall and approaching slowly. "I had hoped it would be of a more practical nature, given the recent—" Bishop froze suddenly, his wide-eyed gaze stuck firmly on the mirror lying peacefully on the bed. "By the Goddess. I had forgotten you would still have Ra's Mirror…" Moving around the footboard, he watched it cautiously for a few seconds, as though anticipating it might move. When he neared it, he focused on Malroth instead. "Why did you bring it out?"

Malroth sighed. "I was trying to look through Crea's bag for ideas on what to do and then I found it," he tried to explain. "I pulled it out a while ago. I've been… wondering if I should look at it. To see if it's the same as last time or not."

"Reasonable," Bishop nodded, turning his gaze down to lean over the glass and peer at it. "My reflection is the same as it's always been."

"That's not encouraging," he muttered.

"Apologies. Shall I pick up the mirror and angle it for you then, if you deem yourself incapable of doing so yourself?"

Malroth's stomach churned at the thought of having somebody shove it in his face again, well-intentioned or not. "No," he mumbled. "I can do it. Just… give me a minute."

Bishop nodded, respectfully talking a step back. Malroth in turn took a deep breath, reaching out again to slide his fingers beneath the cool metal to grab it. Pulling it towards his lap, he stuck his other hand beneath as well, hesitantly adjusting to the weight of it as he picked it up from the bed. His heart hammered as he tightened his grip for several seconds, and with a sharp inhale, he finally lifted it away from his lap to hold it out in front of him. 

His breath froze in his tightened throat as the mirror adjusted, a blur of black in the center like it was coming into focus. The mirror then glinted as though reflecting sunlight, making him wince. And then, with an odd simultaneousness of speed and slowness, Malroth's reflection came into focus.

For several seconds he stared at it, observing his face and eyes and hair. Everything looked exactly like it should, including his pointed ears and hair that stuck up from his forehead. Malroth exhaled heavily, watching his reflection do the same. 

"Are you alright?" Bishop asked quietly. 

Malroth nodded, not breaking his gaze from the mirror. "I can see me now," he breathed. "The mirror… I can…" After staring at it in stunned silence for several seconds, he shook his head in disbelief.  _ "How?" _

"The mirror simply shows the truth, and a person's true form," Bishop said. "Perhaps there is more trueness to you now that didn't exist last time."

"But how could I be a  _ fake _ person?" Malroth demanded. "I was alive. I was breathing. Given my wounds in battle, my body was real and I bled. How could that be… not real?"

"I didn't say it reflected reality, it shows what is  _ true," _ Bishop clarified. "Are you familiar with the legend of the mirror? With where it came from?"

Malroth shook his head, finally looking up and away from his reflection. "No. Why?"

He shrugged. "The stories say that long ago, there was a tower where the Goddess was said to live. A young maiden once decided to climb it, as she wanted to learn for herself if the Goddess was real. To make a short story shorter, she ultimately succeeded and met the Goddess. As a reward for her perseverance, she was given a strange mirror that would always reflect the truth."

Malroth stared at him blankly for several seconds in the following silence. "How does that help me? And anyway, what does that mean the truth was  _ last _ time? That I wasn't real?"

"I thought it an interesting story." He shrugged again. "And as you said, you were real then just as you are now. But in relation to  _ truth? _ That's another matter entirely." Bishop smiled softly. "Given what I knew and saw then compared to now, it would be my supposition that you were simply so untrue to who you are that your true reflection ceased to exist. Confused the mirror, so to speak."

"But… how is that possible?" Malroth whispered. 

Bishop shrugged. "I have my own theories, of course. Certainly one of them is simply the fact there were so many entities within you it couldn't hope to show them all at once. But it matters little what I think; what of you? You tell me what you believe."

Malroth looked back down at his reflection, now holding the mirror between his knees.  _ Untrue to who I am...? _ After thinking back for several minutes and running over several memories in his mind, he took a breath. "I think… you might be onto something," he admitted quietly. "Back then… I was known for a lot of different things than now, wasn't I? Enjoying destruction and fighting so much because of Hargon and the Lord of Destruction so close to me. Not that I knew it then. Plus, Hargon started influencing so many things towards the end… At that point, when I had no reflection, he'd already started to make me say things that I didn't want to." Hesitantly, Malroth looked up at Bishop's reserved expression. "Was that enough, do you think? Even just the disconnect between what I wanted, or thought I wanted, and what Hargon wanted from me?"

Bishop nodded. "I would believe so, if that is indeed the case. As you told me, you were treated as a mere vessel for the Lord of Destruction. You gloried in destruction. You were a simple pawn to Hargon at the time, to be used for his purposes alone. It seems to me you were not really  _ allowed _ to be your own person back then, according to what you've disclosed. A husk of a man, so to speak– not entirely thinking for yourself and simply being influenced by Hargon's desires." He smiled. "But now you're free from that. And free to choose for yourself whatever you want to be."

"Sort of," Malroth mumbled. "What I want is to be with Crea. And I want her to be  _ normal _ again." The mirror glinted out of the corner of his eye, making him glance at it for a long moment before looking back to Bishop. "Err… Do you think—?"

Commotion from the far-off corridors caught their attention, making them freeze and stare at each other. Any sound from that far away reaching the isolated bedroom was rare. It made Malroth's hair stand on end. A minute passed before they heard more distinct voices, several clearly calling for the general. Bishop's expression turned serious as a stone, huffing as he went to the door. Flinging it open, he only had to step out into the hallway for a few seconds before he was accosted by a handful of soldiers.

"General!" one of them cried, stopping and panting in front of Bishop. "A small group of monsters has appeared at the front gate! They say they wish to speak with you, sir."

Bishop nodded. "Very well. Prepare two horses and four guards to accompany me. Order the rest of the vanguard and soldiers to ready themselves on the top of the outer wall– I won't have any ambushes or surprises today, am I clear? I shall be there as soon as I find my helmet." The soldier nodded, saluting and running off. Bishop turned his attention back into the room, leaning on the doorframe. "Come, Malroth. I shall have need of you."

"Me?" he asked, though he was already dropping the mirror on the bed while he stood up. "What for?"

Bishop smiled. "You're our monster expert, are you not? Your expertise in communicating with them will be invaluable." Malroth's skeptical look made him shrug. "You will be unafraid to tell them to… How do you say…  _ fuck off." _

Malroth sneered, following him into the corridor. "That, I can do."

* * *

Sitting on a horse was weird, Malroth decided. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but strange. He'd often seen the kids on the Isle playing on and around the cows and sheep before, but actually being in a saddle legitimately meant for sitting on the beast was… different. Never mind the fact that the whole thing made it difficult to stay completely upright, especially when the damn thing moved. Malroth grumbled as it took several steps of its own accord, swaying his body to try to keep from falling off.  _ I think I prefer my own two feet, _ he thought darkly. 

Bishop rode up a second later, his elegant horse outfitted with matching armor. He grinned. "Never been on a horse before, Sir Malroth?"

"No," he grumbled. "And I told you not to call me that."

Bishop laughed. "Fear not. Your horse is the gentlest and most experienced mare in all of Moonbrooke, and she shan't do you harm."

"I feel like I'm going to fall off every time it moves!" Malroth complained.

"Oh, Pudding, you should know better than that."

"What did you just call me?!" Malroth growled.

Bishop raised an eyebrow. "The horse," he said blankly. "Her name is Pudding."

"Oh." Malroth flushed, embarrassed. "Well… fine. Look, are we gonna get this started or what?"

Maneuvering his own horse to stand next to Pudding, Bishop looked up at the surrounding walls, taking stock of his soldiers and their positions. When he was satisfied, he nodded. "It seems we're all clear. Soldiers! Open the gate!"

The order echoed back to him as the portcullis raised from the snowy ground, the soldiers shouting their directions. Bishop reached over to grab the reins while they waited, putting them in Malroth's hand. 

"Hold these," he said. "At least to look like you know what you're doing. Like this, with your wrists like… that. Yes. Pudding will stay close and at pace with Rook here," he patted his black horse, "so you only have to focus on keeping balance. Does this sound reasonable to you?"

Malroth nodded, clutching the reins as the portcullis reached its full open height. "Reasonable enough," he muttered.

Bishop nodded, turning to the four foot soldiers that were going to accompany them, two on each side. "Advance the guard!"

"Alright Pudding, nice and easy," Malroth whispered, tensing as they began to move. He grit his teeth as he stared down at the saddle, perturbed by the uneven movement.

"Head up," Bishop whispered. "Loosen your hips. Your body will sway but not your head. You'll adjust."

Grumbling, he did as he was told, raising his gaze to see the small company of monsters that stood at the far reaches of the castle beyond the trap minefield. It was a long walk, carefully navigating the spikes and buttons that remained where Crea had placed them over a year ago. Malroth could tell the monsters were trying to look imposing, but really they only looked like a ragtag bunch of misfits. A hammerhood with a white flag on a pole instead of a hammer, a pair of robots, a chimera, and a silvapithecus all flanked a prestidigitator at the front of the group, its dark cloak encompassing its entire body except for a set of eyes that peered out from the darkness beneath its hood. Its staff glowed brightly in its hand as they approached– Malroth shivered, trying to resist the urge to grab it and break it.

"Greetings, sinful humans," it called once they reached the edge of the castle wall. Its voice was low and raspy from beneath the cloak. "I'm pleased that you have appeared to see reason."

"And what reason might that be?" Bishop asked. 

The monster laughed. "To surrender, of course."

"Surrender is not typically given on the steps of the winning side's fortress," Bishop scoffed. "What business have you here? Speak quickly before I lose my patience."

The prestidigitator laughed. "Then I'll get right to the point then, shall I? Surrender the builder and we'll leave you with your miserable lives."

"Fat chance!" Malroth snapped, gripping the reins with force. "As if we'd surrender her to the likes of  _ you. _ You're gonna threaten us with destruction, is that it? You think we're going to cower from you?"

The monster's staff glowed a little. "Perhaps not. At least, not yet. However, we shall generously give you another chance. We will return in a few day's time. If your fear for the builder has grown insufferable, then you can pass her to us with no consequence. Should you fail to do so, we will be unrelenting in our assault to quell your horrible rebellion of  _ building. _ So disgusting."

"Fear of the builder?" Malroth scoffed, spitting at the ground. "The only fear around here is gonna be coming from you when we kick your ass straight to the afterlife."

The prestidigitator hummed. "We shall see about that. You humans are so predictable you know, and we've been fighting this war a long time. It doesn't take much to send a soldier's heart fleeing from the battlefield."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Malroth growled. "Now get out before I change my mind and smash your heads in."

Laughter spilled from under the hood as the monster's staff began to glow blue. "Beware the builder, war-bringer. She tries to bring hope, but it is a mask for suffering and pain. You shall see this when we return as your hope crumbles just the same as any castle wall. Give her to us, or you'll only be damning yourselves to death!" A blue sphere encompassed the monsters for a second before it disappeared, taking the monsters with it.

"Cowards," Malroth grumbled angrily. 

"I'm willing to bet the attacks on Moonahan have ceased," Bishop said thoughtfully. "It appears they were looking for her, now that they know a Master is on the island."

_ Not that they'd find her anyway, _ Malroth thought glumly.

"I must speak with the King," Bishop said, turning Rook around to head back to the castle. "And we must convene another war meeting. Likely tomorrow. If the monsters are to return, then we must be ready." 

Malroth yelped as Pudding automatically moved to stay with Rook, grabbing the saddle horn in an attempt to keep his balance. Once he had stabilized, he grumbled.  _ Stupid horses. _

* * *

_ He betrayed you.  _

"How?"

_ Why should he go free while his companion lies trapped in a dungeon of her own making? He is afraid of you. Afraid of us. Imprisoned you. Imprisoned us. _

"...Maybe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, headcanons of the mirror! (personally I feel like Malroth not having a reflection after the end of the game was an oversight in the case of the devs.) but I like to hear what other people think, so... :3c why do you think the mirror didn't work in Moonbrooke?


	40. The Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth tries to visit Crea again, and learns something terrible. (Or: In which things go very, very bad.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shoves a box of tissues at you*
> 
> you've been warned!! (apologies to aradia in advance for taking ten years off her life lmao)

"...Very well. It appears all is in order, your majesty. We shall begin preparations at once."

Movement brought Malroth's attention back to the huge map in front of him, drawing him from his own thoughts to look up at the various castle officials leaving the war room.  _ It's over already? _ His mind hadn't wanted to stay focused on preparations. Instead, he was now completely still as everyone filed out behind him, leaning forward against the table with folded arms. When it was silent again, he sighed. 

"Didn't sleep well, I take it?"

Malroth turned to see Bishop standing silently by the door. He shook his head. "Not by myself," he admitted. It was strange to realize he'd always slept within a few feet of another person over the course of his admittedly-short lifetime. Trying to sleep in an empty room now had startled his senses to jump at every noise– or worse, at every lack of noise. 

Bishop's eyebrows were creased, the inside corners turned up in concern. "You must rest, then. Especially if the coming fight is any indicator—"

"I can't," Malroth interrupted. "Not without Crea."

"You know I cannot—"

"What gets her out?" he asked suddenly. "You talked to the King, didn't you? What do I have to do to save her?"

Bishop sighed. "Malroth, she is not in danger." He tried to hide a wince as he realized the implications of his own words.  _ Not here, at least. Not by us. _ "And the King has refused to say as of yet what his conditions are. He is worried most about the impending attacks."

"I thought you talked to him before he knew about the attack," Malroth countered. "Yesterday.  _ Before _ the monsters came."

There was a kind of unexplained solidness to Bishop's expression that somehow let Malroth know he was hiding something. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to ask and figure it out, though. That had only backfired so many times already to make him wary.

And still, Bishop hesitated. "The only thing I know for certain is he won't release her until after the monsters are dealt with. After that… I do not know."

Malroth folded his arms closer to his chest, looking down at the floor.  _ Of course not.  _

Bishop observed him carefully. "Would you like to see her? Perhaps it would ease your mind."

"I told her I would have an answer when I came back," he growled. 

"Is that not enough of one for now? The monsters must be dealt with, that much is true. And we know they are coming soon. We haven't enough time for much else."

Malroth squeezed his eyes closed, trying to calm the pained beating of his heart. "She won't like that answer…"

Bishop sighed. "She won't like any answer that isn't  _ we're releasing you now. _ But it's the best we have for the time being."

After considering it for a long minute or two, Malroth sighed too, standing up straight to stop leaning against the large emblematic table. "Fine…"

Bishop nodded, turning. "I have something I need to do so I cannot accompany you. However, the guards have been instructed to allow you to visit once a day, provided you do not have your hammer. You should have no problems."

Malroth followed him out into the hall, walking in silence together until they stopped in front of the bell chamber. Bishop nodded sternly in parting, uttering a simple  _ good luck _ beneath his breath before disappearing into the room. Malroth started to move without thinking, following the corridor all the way around to the courtyard. 

The running water under the bridge was little comfort as he approached the guard that immediately stepped aside. This one made no snide comments as Malroth cautiously descended, trying to make it obvious he wasn't a soldier clomping down the stairs. Since she didn't automatically start insulting him, he figured it worked. 

"Crea," he said quietly, approaching the bars and kneeling down. "Are you alright?"

She was lying on the floor with her back to him, curled up on the straw mat that they tried to pass off for a bed. At his voice she turned slightly, looking over her shoulder. "Oh, sure, just fine," she retorted, grumbling as she sat up against the wall. "Bit of a spa going on down here, can't you tell? I get the whole place to myself, and I get dibs on all the food. It's a shame they don't dare turn on the heat though." She shivered a little. 

"I'll see if I can bring you warmer clothes," Malroth offered, ignoring her biting sarcasm. "Or convince them to set up a fire for you… I remember how cold it could get down here. Especially at night."

Crea made a scoffing sound but otherwise didn't say anything. Malroth took a careful breath. 

"Are they treating you alright?"

"Of course not," she snapped. "They're keeping me in here, aren't they? Ungrateful bastards…"

"They're just scared, Crea. Same as when they put me in here."

Her eyes flashed brightly. "So you put me up to this?"

"What?" Malroth blurted. "No!"

"This  _ is _ your fault!" Crea insisted, glaring. "You did this to me!"

"Me?" His eyes had gone wide, his head slowly shaking in shock. "How?  _ You're _ the one that threatened to take every block of Moonbrooke away from them!"

She scoffed. "As well I should, now! They put me in my own dungeon!  _ Me! _ You don't think I deserve to follow through on my threat after a stunt like that?"

All thoughts of trying to stay close to her were forgotten. Bishop had mentioned having to pretend to accept things he disagreed with, but this? Openly advocating such heartless acts was  _ too _ far. Malroth shook his head. "Are you even listening to yourself? You're talking about destroying Moonbrooke! You can't just take their homes because you feel like it, or because you think they need to be punished or something… I thought you said creation was sacred!"

A faint glimmer of something soft passed through Crea's expression, but then it disappeared just as quickly as she scoffed. "Listen– I'm a  _ builder. _ And not only that, but I'm a  _ Master _ Builder. Nothing on any of these islands would exist without me, so it's all mine. Every castle, every tunnel, every tree. Even  _ you _ wouldn't exist without me! So I'm not apologizing to the King or anyone for anything, understand? I owe him nothing. But he and everyone else on this island and all the rest of them owe me  _ everything!" _ She scowled. "They would be smart to remember that…"

Malroth felt his heart pounding painfully in his chest, so strongly that he felt like his breath had up and disappeared. Leaning forward in a moment of weakness, he grabbed the bar to help keep himself upright, his red glove almost bright against the blackness of the cell. It wasn't lost on him how he remembered doing the very same thing when they had forced him inside before, desperately wishing for a way through the bars. Except… last time, his wish had been for freedom. This time, he was on the wrong side of the bars to be wishing for that. 

He swallowed heavily, his eyes stinging. "Crea… What's happening to you…?"

Heavy footsteps on the stairs caught their attention, making both of them stop and look. When Bishop rounded the corner Malroth wanted to feel relief, but something in the general's stern expression and rigid posture with his hands behind his back made him look too imposing for any feelings of relief. It made his blood turn cold instead.

"Ah, Malroth." Bishop nodded to him. "I had wondered where you ran off to. I should've guessed that you would be here."

"What do you want?" Crea spat. "Nobody visits me unless they want something." 

Malroth kept his jaw clenched.  _ Not me… _

Bishop eyed her coolly. "The King has mandated two parts in reference to your release. My visit today is concerning the first."

Malroth felt nauseous. "And what would that be?" he asked, his voice feeling more wary than he normally would've liked. 

Bishop's stern eye fell to him. "In short… an assessment."

Crea growled. "The hell are you—"

The room went dead silent as Bishop removed his hands from behind his back, bringing Ra's Mirror in front of his chest. Malroth felt his eyes go wide and his heart freeze in his chest, his lungs already burning.  _ You want what?! _ his mind screamed. 

"Damn that fucking mirror!" Crea screeched. "How did you get that?"

"I believe Malroth already told you we took your bag," Bishop said, his body language dull and unmoving though his eyes were piercing yet nonchalant. "We were instructed to search its contents for any clues for if something might've happened to you, given your erratic behavior of late. Instead, we found this, and the King hoped that the mirror would show us what happened."

"Can the mirror even do that?" Malroth wondered quietly. 

Crea scoffed. "You won't find anything. I'm only just realizing I should value myself more and get the appreciation I deserve– never mind take on the projects that are worth my time. Isn't that why I'm down here? Because I thought better of myself than you did?"

"You're down here because you threatened the very survival of Moonbrooke!" Bishop snapped. "For shame, builder. You think so poorly of the people you build for. Would you not wish to train us rather than mock us? Else we could free up your skills away from such mundane tasks once we were trained!"

"Train you!" She sneered. "Right, because having you all reinforce the main gates four times and build three towers for the Kazapple cannon wasn't  _ enough training!" _

"Enough!" Bishop declared, throwing his cloak aside. "Be still. We shall see what the mirror has to say." He took a step forward to keep his eye on Crea, her chin up as she stared back at him in defiance. But even her expression faltered when Bishop turned his gaze to the side, holding the mirror out to Malroth where he knelt by the bars. 

Malroth could hardly speak for several seconds, the nausea threatening his throat as he stared. "What…?"

"The King wishes for you to administer the mirror," Bishop explained flatly, pressing it more in his direction. "He wants to be sure you are not in league with some traitorous plot."

"Traitorous plot!" Crea shouted, incredulous. "Seriously? I'm a builder! What do you take me for?"

"Be silent!" Bishop commanded again before looking back to Malroth. "You will do this or be likewise considered an enemy to Moonbrooke. Am I understood?"

Malroth nodded dumbly, automatically reaching up to accept the mirror with his heart in his throat. It seemed heavier than before as Bishop let go, the weight of it between his hands sinking to his lap. He couldn't help but look down at it, seeing his reflection again for a brief moment despite it looking like he was racked with grief, eyes bloodshot and puffy with streams of tears all over his cheeks. He shut his eyes. He didn't need to see that to know how he felt.

"Manipulating him now too?" Crea growled. "Is there nothing that is too low for you, general?"

"The King has his reasons, I am sure." Bishop sniffed. "Come, Malroth. Show her the mirror."

"Um, no?" Crea huffed. "We're not doing that. You and I both know what I am, there's no reason for that." She crossed her arms. "You think I'm a monster in disguise? No monster could've built that perfect church in Moonahan."

"I know not what you are," Bishop responded to her, though he kept his eyes on Malroth. "But I do know you to be a shadow of your former self. You may be a builder, but you are certainly not the one we came to adore before."

"I'm a better builder now than I ever was before!" Crea yelled. "And stronger! Let me out of this stupid cell so I can leave this island already, and go somewhere I'll be appreciated."

"Soon, builder. Malroth, if you please."

Malroth looked up to see Bishop's unfeeling eyes, firm and hard and unyielding. His gaze then turned to Crea, who likewise stared back unforgivingly. Hesitating for a moment, Malroth shifted his knees on the floor, facing her a little more directly as his fingers gripped the mirror tighter. 

Crea's eyes went wide. "You're not."

"What choice do I have?" Malroth whispered. 

"Don't use the mirror!"

"But they'll imprison me too…"

"I don't care! Don't do it!"

"But they could hurt us!" Malroth cried. "No one will help us if I'm in there with you. We might  _ never _ leave!"

Crea growled. "You're more afraid of them than me? You should fear what I could do if you use the frickin' mirror!"

Malroth hesitated, cradling the mirror to his chest. He didn't want to admit that he  _ was  _ afraid of that. Behind him, Bishop cleared his throat. 

"You do not have authority to hinder him, builder," he declared. "Come, Malroth. Proceed."

Eyes stinging, Malroth adjusted his hold on the mirror, looking down at the back of it in his hands. A small circle served as a sort of looking glass– he knew it was how Crea could see the other's reflections the last time she had used it. Looking back at Crea, his heart faltered at her fury.

"Don't. Use. It," she growled, punctuating each word.

He shook his head, his hands trembling as he lifted the mirror from his lap. "I'm sorry," he whispered. And then the mirror shone.

Through the odd reflection of the back of the mirror, Malroth could only make out a vague shape of a person, faded and blurred as though it were merely a distorted reflection on rippling water. It was shining white, gray streaks throughout, somehow almost shimmering. Peering over the top of the mirror, he could see her sitting against the wall, cross-legged and frowning, arms tight across her chest. Nothing at all like whatever the mirror was trying to show him. 

"Broken again, is it?" Crea scoffed. "Or maybe even it knows better than to question me."

"What  _ are _ you?" Bishop demanded. "Clearly something is amiss if your reflection is unclear!"

She rolled her eyes. "Did you see what you wanted? Hm? Do you feel better now?"

"Answer my question!" Bishop demanded. 

Crea glared at him. "I wasn't talking to you, stupid," she growled. Then she turned her gaze back to Malroth. "Well? Do you?"

He shrunk. "I…" His voice died in his throat, and even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have gotten past the tightness that would've stopped him instead. It was all he could do to shake his head, frozen and horrified at the reflection he saw.  _ Almost like a ghost,  _ he thought.  _ A ghost of her former self…  _

Crea unfurled her arms, slamming her palms against the stone floor with a yell. "Well? Do you feel better? I told you you wouldn't, but did you listen to me?"

Malroth felt stuck, transfixed on Crea's face. So alike the one he loved, but so wrong. So,  _ so _ wrong. Even still he couldn't put his finger on it. "I had to do it, Crea," he said quietly, his voice cracking and breaking. "I had to do what they said so I could still be out here to help you…" He shook his head. "I love you, Crea. Don't do this. Don't—" He swallowed harshly. "Don't do what I did."

In a smooth and furious motion, Crea grabbed her locket and jerked it off over her head, immediately flinging it at him without another moment's thought. Malroth fumbled to let go of the mirror and raise his hands at the same time, flinching as it collided with his face and making him recoil with shock.

"You can't help me anymore," she snarled. "You tried."

Malroth suddenly felt like he'd been swallowed by the ocean, his resolve crumbling like a drowning sailor slipping beneath the waves for the last time. He could hardly breathe, though he knew in the back of his mind that the gasps that echoed around the cell were his own. 

"Go home, Malroth!" Crea shouted, angrily turning away to face the wall and curl back up on her bed. "I don't need you anymore."

While his vision began to spot and fade, he felt hands grabbing at his arms and pulling him somewhere into the darkness. He had no way to know where he'd gone or how much time had passed– it was just the unending darkness that consumed him. For some brief moments Malroth wondered if Hargon would appear, cackling and tormenting him about destroying his hope, or about destroying his memories of her. 

But it wasn't Hargon that appeared to him in the darkness. No.

It was her eyes, furious and burning. And with them, her voice. 

_ Go home, Malroth.  _

_ I don't need you anymore. _

* * *

_ He betrayed you. _

"No. He betrayed  _ us." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sob*


	41. The Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth speaks with the King.

_ Malroth.  _

_ Malroth?  _

_ Malroth!  _

Blinking at his name and finally coming into focus, Malroth only had enough energy to turn his head. He found himself in his room, curled up fully clothed underneath a blanket on his bed. His hands were flat and limp next to his face, Crea's pendant resting in his upturned palm like he'd been studying it for… however long it had been. He didn't know. He certainly didn't care. 

Turning his head just a little more, he saw Bishop, worriedly hovering over him and pushing at his shoulders. To wake him up, Malroth guessed. He set his head back down to the pillow with a huff, mindlessly staring at her pendant once more.

"Malroth," Bishop called. "You must wake."

He lazily flapped his free hand, as if that would deter the general from anything. "Not now…"

"Yes now," Bishop growled. "The King wishes to speak with you."

Malroth turned his head again, staring him down for several seconds without moving. His mind was sluggish, but there was one question that had crept into his mind in the silent hours– days?– since then. "Was the mirror your or his idea?" he eventually croaked.

Bishop sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Malroth…"

"I made a promise to protect her," he said, his voice cracking. "How am I supposed to do that now? Now that she sees me just as much a traitor as any of you?" He wanted to keep hurling insults, but frankly he was too exhausted to even think of anything relevant.

Bishop's eyebrows were turned up in concern, eyes flickering between Malroth's own. "It is regrettable what happened," he said quietly. "But there is still work to be done."

"Maybe for you."

"And even for you," he added. "She's still here, isn't she? You haven't left for home yet, so she may still have to rely on you for some things. You may yet prove your worth as a distant bodyguard, or at least find a way to tail her to wherever this voice intends to take her next. And aside from all of that, we still have a monster army to contend with. That is certainly work to be done."

Malroth was motionless, still staring at the pendant in his palm. It was too much to wonder if he'd done all the right things, made all the right choices, or even if he'd done the best that he could. All he could really remember or focus on was that he was alone. And for the vast majority of his short life, he'd never been alone like this before. Even when he was trapped in Malhalla under Hargon's visions, he still had maintained some unreasonable far-off hope that Crea would come, if not to save him then to destroy him so the world wouldn't end. He always knew he would see her at least once more before the end. 

But now? With this? 

How could he have hope like that  _ now?  _

Without thinking, he pressed his empty palm down against the mattress by his ribcage, leveraging his body upright before he could stop himself. The blanket pooled on his lap as he shivered at the cold air, and he swayed a little to catch his balance before looking up blankly at the general. 

Bishop smiled sadly. "I know it's not easy. And I know it feels like the pain will never end. But it shall, Malroth. Just as our generations-long war was finally won, triumph shall come to you as well. But we must fight for it."

He scoffed, looking down at the bed. "What's the point?" he mumbled.  _ It's like she said– I wouldn't even exist without her.  _

"Your dignity is the point!" Bishop declared. "Your self-respect is the point! You are a fine warrior at heart– would you not have disappointment with yourself if you were to allow this to simply  _ happen?" _

Malroth raised his eyes, faint embers of anger kindling within him. "Who threatened me to shove the mirror in her face to begin with? Did you secretly want me to fight that?" he growled. "Fighting that was like fighting a tornado– utterly  _ pointless. _ Whatever I chose I was going to lose."

Bishop was silent and motionless for a long minute. But then his shoulders raised as he took in air to speak. "The King is waiting," he said firmly. 

"To exile us, I hope," Malroth mumbled bitterly, sliding off the bed from under the blanket and heading for the door. 

"Malroth, wait."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning enough to see Bishop's hesitant figure out of the corner of his eye. A silent question flickered in Malroth's icy gaze.

Bishop's shoulders rose and fell with a long and steady motion as he took a large breath and likewise released it. "The King believes her fading reflection bodes ill."

Malroth stared at him out of the corner of his eyes for a moment more before turning to face him properly and scoff. "So?"

_ "So," _ Bishop emphasized, "you will need to tread carefully should you wish to still help her."

"I shouldn't," he mumbled, clenching the pendant tighter in his palm and looking down at his fist. "I really wish I didn't want to keep helping her."

"If you don't, then who will?"

"Who cares?" Malroth snapped. "Not me. I  _ shouldn't. _ She told me once that she was the only one who could follow me to Malhalla since she was  _ real _ and everyone else was beginning to fade. But now everybody's  _ real _ and she  _ hates me _ and why should  _ I _ be the one to bother?" He growled.

"Because you know her best!" Bishop challenged. 

"Do I? Are you  _ sure? _ Because if I knew her any better then maybe I could've stopped this!" Malroth grit his teeth, biting back further rage.

"Malroth," Bishop said calmly. "I'm sorry that you're hurting. It is terrible, and I  _ am _ sorry. But you said it yourself about your own experience with Hargon– it would not have mattered even if she did something differently. Hargon would have found something, some way for you to be angry and separate yourself. Nor do I doubt that with her now. Her reactions may be too volatile due to whatever is happening in her mind. But  _ you, _ Malroth…" He smiled sadly. "Your actions still matter. Hers may not, with how little agency she may have now. But you still have the opportunity."

"Why me," he muttered darkly, dropping his gaze to the floor. "There are two dozen people on the Isle that could save her. I'm not the only one that can fight."

"Perhaps," Bishop agreed. "But you understand her situation much more intimately than anyone else. That qualifies you much more than the rest of us."

Malroth clenched his fist but otherwise remained still.

Bishop observed his silence for a minute before speaking again at a whisper. "Malroth… If she had believed your words when you departed Moonbrooke, you and she would have been lost forever, along with the rest of us. When you saw her come for you in that dark place… Were you angry that she had come? Had you wished she would have stayed behind and stayed away as you requested?"

The corners of the pendant dug into Malroth's palms as he growled softly.  _ No. _

"Despite the cruel things that Hargon may have made you say…" Bishop paused. "Were you resentful that she fought for you anyway? Were you bitter because she chose to be kind?"

Malroth looked back at Bishop, meeting his earnest gaze at the apparently honest question with a frown. His hardened gaze looked down to the locket again for a long minute, and then, silent and determined, he took it between both hands and slipped the chain over his head. The necklace bounced against his chest as he moved his hair, and when Malroth was done he looked sternly back at Bishop, who smiled softly in return. 

"A war is won or broken because of small moments like this. It may not seem like it now, but one day you will be grateful for this decision to keep fighting. Of this I am sure." Bishop moved to Malroth's side, gently setting his hand on his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "Come. The King awaits."

The corridors were terribly silent as they walked. Not even the normally‐bustling kitchens had any movement as they passed them, making Malroth feel on edge as they made their way through the ornate throne room doors. The King and his guards were the only ones present, watching them approach until they stopped at the stairs in front of the throne. Bishop stood a few feet off to the side, making it seem like he was present to be a guard rather than a participant. The King cleared his throat, drawing Malroth's attention.

"I thank you for joining me," the King said. "Bishop has informed me of the situation. I feel I must apologize to you, Malroth. The situation has gone terribly awry, and for that I take sole responsibility."

Malroth exhaled slowly from his nose, trying to subdue his temper. "It's a bit late for apologies," he said quietly, a subtle edge to his voice. 

The King sighed. "Yes… I am aware of that too. Nevertheless, I would try. In order to make restitution, I would seek your inclusion on the plan that I have dictated for the situation thus far."

Malroth crossed his arms, feeling the corner of the pendant dig into his skin. "Alright. I'll bite. You ordered for me to use the mirror on her?"

He nodded. "I did not think anyone else would be able to get close enough to administer it. That said, this outcome is regrettable. If I had known that she would react that way to you, I would have asked someone else and forced it that way."

_ But you didn't and now she hates me.  _ Malroth clenched his jaw before forcing himself to take another long breath. "So you didn't even try with anyone else before springing it on me, huh?"

"Not with the mirror, but with food and other essentials. She never paid them mind, hunched up at the back wall and mumbling to herself."

_ Mumbling?  _ Malroth took a few seconds to process that, getting halfway through rolling his eyes before shutting them, slowly shaking his head in disbelief.  _ No wonder she's been acting like that. Ketriel has free reign now that she's finally by herself,  _ he thought darkly.  _ Just like me… _

"At any rate," the King continued, "regardless of the cost and outcome, it is fortunate that we now know something more concrete. Verily, proof and evidence that her essence is fading away."

"She's not  _ fading," _ Malroth snapped. "She's—"

But he didn't have the words to describe it. The King raised his eyebrow at the interruption. "Her reflection was undeniable, according to Bishop's report. An image unlike what we saw the last time she was present, and likewise certain it was not yours. Almost as though a disturbed reflection upon water, I believe. That was how you described that, was it not?" The King turned his head to Bishop, then back once he was satisfied with the general's sure nod.

"But she's not fading," Malroth repeated. "She's still in there. Somewhere. It's just… messed up right now. Just like me since I didn't have a reflection at one point either."

"This is wisdom," the King agreed. "Truly no individual is entirely lost, even when choosing to display such aggression and align themselves with selfish motives." 

A sadness passed over the King's face for a moment, confusing Malroth. The sudden thought of Warwick appeared to his mind, and with that context the grief was all too obvious and tangible after that.

"And yet her path is currently a dangerous one," the King added. "Surely you know something more of what's transpiring within her mind?"

Malroth grimaced, shooting a glance at Bishop who met it stoically. "Unfortunately," Malroth said quietly. 

"So there is something?" the King asked hopefully. 

"She has a voice in her head, remember? I told you that before." Malroth grit his teeth with a soft growl. "When I was down there by myself it only took a couple days to be convinced of Hargon's words. I'm sure it'll be the same for her. When she can leave this place, she'll probably head straight for him. Whatever he's telling her, whatever she's  _ believing _ now because of him– that's messing with her reflection. I'm sure of it."

The room was silent for several minutes as the King pondered this information. Malroth eyed him cooly, continuing softly.

"Bishop mentioned there were two things that had to happen before Crea could get out. The mirror was the first. What's the second?"

"That is a more complicated matter," the King admitted quietly, "as we don't have a specific idea for what that looks like just yet. What we do need from that, however, is some kind of assurance that she will not burn the castle to the ground, as well as a promise to leave in peace. How that might be accomplished, I am not sure."

Bishop cleared his throat. "The monster rebellion too must be quelled. You made mention of that before, your majesty."

"Ah yes. I did indeed." The King nodded thoughtfully before turning his attention to Malroth once more. "Consider it in our time before the monsters return. If you can think of such a way to assess her disposition, then I will gladly—"

The side door to the throne room burst open, a soldier skidding in and frantically glancing between all the faces in the room. "General! Your majesty! The monsters are assembling at the front gate!"

"That didn't take long," Malroth muttered, already moving to the door. Bishop intercepted him, grabbing his arm before he went too far.

"You must eat something," he insisted. "Be it far from me to order you around, but your incident with Crea was yesterday. If you fight now, you'll certainly pass out again and I have no sure way to protect you."

"We don't have time for that!" Malroth complained, trying to wrench his arm from his hold.

"There shall be time," Bishop said, squeezing his arm more. "They are merely assembling. The fighting will not begin for some time. You must understand, surely I will never forgive myself should something happen to you under my watch! Especially when Crea still needs you."

Malroth growled reluctantly but relented, letting his arm go limp. Bishop released his arm and patted his shoulder instead.

"There's a good lad. I'll save you a place at the front, on my honor."

Malroth nodded, turning away and leaving through the throne doors towards the kitchen, his limbs already tingling with the promise of a fight. Smashing monster heads may not  _ fix  _ anything, but they certainly wouldn't  _ break  _ anything, either. And even though he didn't glorify destruction anymore, he knew it would at least make him feel a little better. 


	42. The Second Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the monsters return.

Even after scarfing down a huge platter of food (and ignoring Esther's voice in his head telling him to slow down so he wouldn't get sick), Malroth was still out at the front gate before the huge group of monsters had even so much as moved from their place along the tattered remains of the monster camp from the previous year. Bishop was already atop Rook, riding back and forth among the troops to situate them around the watchfires. Malroth felt a vague sense of déjà vu, but strangely reversed– he could remember what it was like to hear the soldiers rushing around with the distant clanging of swords while he was stuck in a dungeon below ground. But now he was free and waiting for battle while Crea was below and stuffed in a cage. He grit his teeth in anger, staring down at the ground to preserve his temper. Unfair as he thought it was back then, that was nothing compared to now. 

Fast approaching hoofbeats made Malroth look up, seeing Bishop slowing as he neared him. Pudding trailed obediently behind Rook until she saw Malroth, and she increased her pace until she stopped directly in front of him, practically nudging his whole face with her nose. Malroth took a step back but put his hand on the side of her head, stroking gently as he looked up to Bishop.

"Your steed awaits," Bishop smirked.

Malroth flushed hotly. "I'll fight on my own two feet, thank you very much. I nearly fell off of her while moving in a straight line, what makes you think I can  _ fight _ up there?" Pudding nudged his chest with the end of her nose, though with her size it ended up as a hearty push. Malroth took another step back, rubbing the top of her muzzle. 

Bishop chuckled. "She seems to like you."

"It's not that I don't like her," he complained. "It's just, if you want me to be effective in this fight, don't put me up there."

"Yes, I understand," Bishop nodded. "A shame though. You look rather mighty on horseback."

"General!"

Bishop turned at the soldier's voice, seeing him run up and salute.

"The monsters have sent out an envoy, sir. Just two."

Bishop frowned. "Very well. Malroth and I shall go see what they want. Send a handful of soldiers up on the wall to guard us in case something goes wrong." The soldier nodded and scampered away, leaving Bishop to turn back to Malroth and extend his arm. "Time is short, friend. Climb on."

Malroth raised an eyebrow but accepted his hand, climbing up with his help. He saw another soldier come to take Pudding, then he startled himself as Rook began to move a little. 

"Hold on now," Bishop said, grabbing Malroth's hand and placing it on his side. "Don't fall off."

"What do you mean, don't—"

The sudden and fast movement below him made Malroth panic in surprise, hurriedly gripping around Bishop's middle as Rook broke into a gallop. He could only imagine Bishop's entertained expression, but it was soon forgotten as he watched the monsters get closer and closer. The prestidigitator from before was back, as well as the hammerhood carrying a flag instead of a hammer. Malroth thought the line of monsters and robots looked intimidating, but only because he was without an army directly at his back.

"State your business," Bishop barked, once they stopped within a few yards.

The prestidigitator hummed, its staff glittering brightly. "Your time is up, humans. Surrender the builder so she can answer for her crimes."

"No chance in hell, you sad excuse for a bedsheet," Malroth snapped. "I should kill you where you stand for asking that!"

"Insolent humans." The monster shook its head almost like it pitied them. "Then you will all pay for her. It's a shame– you could've spared yourselves further destruction."

"What destruction?" Bishop scoffed. "You've committed no destruction to us here. Your threat has no teeth and you know it."

Laughter erupted from beneath the monster's cloak. "No teeth? Ha. Perhaps not from me. But there are plenty others at my back befitting the role for teeth." The staff glowed white. "Then again, there is more than one way to kill a human than by teeth alone."

Almost entirely by instinct, Malroth pulled his hammer from his back right when the spell left the monster's staff. Swinging it awkwardly around Bishop's side, he managed to deflect the icy spell down into the dirt with his hammer's barrier. Rook moved back nervously while rearing slightly, making Malroth grab Bishop with one hand while the prestidigitator stared in wide-eyed shock.

"What manner of magic is that?" it demanded.

Malroth smirked once Rook stopped moving. "The magic of the builder." He ignored the stabbing sadness in his chest. 

The monster scowled, its staff glowing blue as it prepared to teleport. "Death to all creation!"

"And death to all that threaten it!" Bishop retorted, just seconds before the two monsters disappeared. He grunted in annoyance as he turned Rook around.

"That's the second time I've saved you from being assassinated," Malroth sneered, shouldering his hammer again.

Bishop growled. "And hopefully the last. Hang on!" he yelled, spurring Rook back into the safety of the trap-laden field. Malroth simply clung to him with both hands to keep from falling.

The soldiers were already agitated when they made it back to the castle wall, nervously shifting with determined looks around the watchfires. When Rook stopped Malroth slid off, stumbling once his feet hit the snow.

"Prepare yourselves!" Bishop shouted, drawing his sword. "The first waves approach!"

Malroth had to take several steps to get full power of his legs again, glancing up to see the monsters mobilizing. He could see the two trolls at the back, swinging their clubs randomly as they ordered different groups around. With such a narrow space to enter, they had no choice but to go in waves. When the first wave started trying to pick its way through the fire and spikes at the front, Malroth stood firm between the watchfires with hands clenched, merely waiting. 

It still took several minutes for the monsters to get close enough to fight, given how effectively the traps slowed them down. The smell of burnt hair was the most prominent one, the smaller monsters like hammerhoods and bewarewolves getting caught in the flames and evaporating into purple smoke before getting too far. The flying monsters were downed quickly with the infrequent tornadoes, and the ones that avoided those were dispatched with arrows. It was the robots that caused the most problems, as Malroth suspected they would. Their sturdy armour was hardly phased at the fire or spikes, and the tornadoes and ice only served to slow them down rather than inflict any real damage on their bulky frames. When they came level with the last protective wall, Malroth pulled his hammer from his back, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. 

_ Finally. _

A blue killing machine rushed forward from between the crossbolts of the ballistae, honing in on Malroth given his solitary position directly between the castle gates. He parried its initial attack, the sword arm delayed just enough from the ice that Malroth could see it coming, batting away another attempt once the robot recovered itself. The robot swung a third time which Malroth sidestepped, heaving his hammer from over his head against the robot's singular red eye. The whole thing sputtered and spun, its legs collapsing under the weight of its own body, and then it disappeared into a puff of purple smoke like all the others. He briefly wondered why monsters disappeared faster from Moonbrooke than from Moonahan, but he had no time to think on it further as another robot charged forward to take its place.

Malroth thought it fortunate that his hammer was notably stronger than the club he carried the last time he was here. Sturdy though it had been, metal was far more effective at destroying other metal, magically reinforced or not. Plus, his hammer carried some magic in it too. That made it significantly easier to destroy robot after robot, and not break too much of a sweat to boot. Still, for as problematic as the robots were, he knew to be wary of the larger enemies that had yet to shamble up.

And shamble up they did, after nearly an entire half hour of fighting robots. By that point Malroth was breathing heavily, luckily with no notable injuries aside from a few shallow cuts on his hands and even fewer scratches on his face. The robot in front of him disappeared into smoke and he was greeted with the sight of Lazyeye and Spitface ambling towards him. Swirling flames danced around them as fire from the traps got sucked up into the tornadoes, but they didn't seem to notice much at all. Instead, their smiles widened when they saw him, their tongues lolling out even more.

"Give us the builder!" Lazyeye shouted.

Malroth snarled. "Over my dead body!"

"We can arrange that!" Spitface gleefully added, the both of them still slowly moving towards him.

Malroth hesitated, catching his breath a little.  _ I don't know if I can take them both… _

Fortunately, Bishop appeared at his side a second later. "These brutes are among the last wave to advance," Bishop shouted from his place atop Rook. "I stand with you!" 

Malroth nodded, warily watching the trolls as they passed through the ice traps with little difficulty. Then, when they finally emerged covered in shards of ice, they wasted no time in raising their clubs over their heads. 

Bishop rushed right while Malroth dashed left, both dodging the clubs that slammed into the earth where they had been standing. Snow sprayed everywhere and Malroth shook it out of his hair, raising his gaze to the pair of trolls. Lazyeye seemed distracted behind Spitface, and Malroth hoped that meant Bishop had caught his attention. On the other hand, Spitface followed his movement with gleeful eyes, grinning wildly as he picked up his club to try again. Arrows pelted at the troll's bare shoulder, but he didn't seem to notice as he pulled the club over his shoulder again, taking careful aim. Malroth threw himself out of the way, diving headfirst into the snow as more of it showered him from behind as the troll made impact with the earth again.

"Stay still!" Spitface slobbered. "Or give us the builder if you don't want to get squished!"

"Why do you want her?" Malroth demanded, scrambling to his feet. "She won't do anything for you!"

"If we take builder, humans lose hope!" The troll shouted eagerly. "Then monsters win easier!"

Malroth sneered. "You  _ are _ as stupid as you look."

Spitface glowered, growling. "Big words for a small human! Meet bigger club!"

Malroth grimaced.  _ Typical.  _

Lifting its club again, the troll didn't even bother to aim before swinging it down. Malroth gripped his hammer tighter in his hands as he ran to the side, turning once the club hit the dirt and smashing down against its massive hand. The troll screamed in displeasure, letting go of the club to wave its hand around like it was trying to shake off the pain. Malroth took the chance to run forward, swinging his hammer several times against the monster's belly and feet. Spitface roared again and tried to rear up to step on him, but stumbled a little and went to kick him instead. Dodging with little effort, Malroth took the new wide-open opportunity to swing solidly at its back, causing it to stumble a few feet before turning back, clearly furious.

"You annoying!" Spitface complained furiously.

"I could say the same for you," Malroth panted, adjusting his hammer in his hand in case it pulled any sudden moves.

Its face turned a darker shade of brown. "I kill you!" it screeched. 

He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "You first."

Emitting an agitated scream, the troll hefted its club up again, bringing it over its head with both hands this time. Malroth watched it carefully until the club was in motion, taking care to dive to the side as before. This time, he recovered quickly enough to turn and jump up onto the top of the club, bringing his hammer over his head as he sprung up, yelling as he brought it down against the troll's forehead. 

Spitface hardly made a sound as it stumbled and fell, other than the massive thud that resonated through the snow. Malroth was careful to observe the monster's eyes for several seconds after it fell, seeing the crossed eyes and the neutral expression until its body began to evaporate in purple smoke. Looking up, Malroth saw Bishop on his horse, circling around Lazyeye and leaving a large number of gashes all around the troll's midsection. Satisfied that he had it under control, Malroth sighed and let his legs give out, crumbling to allow him to sit in the middle of the snow. He watched Bishop idly until Lazyeye too fell over and dissipated into smoke, leaving the general and his horse to trot over to his side. 

"The battle is won!" Bishop said cheerily. Malroth simply nodded at all that enthusiasm. The general slid off Rook, giving it a hearty pat before turning back to Malroth. "We should report to the King immediately."

"We?" Malroth questioned. "Why not just you?"

"It is your victory too, is it not?" Bishop asked, extending his hand. "Come! His Majesty will be anxious to hear of our victory."

Malroth raised an eyebrow at the general's hand for several long seconds before sighing and taking it, allowing him to pull him to his feet. 


	43. The Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they strike a deal.

The throne room was surprisingly warm when they entered. The King looked up from his seat on the throne, eyes glimmering with gratitude as they approached. 

"The castle grows silent, General!" the King chirped.

"It is won," Bishop said, putting a hand over his heart and bowing slightly. "As far as we can surmise, all the monsters are dead."

"Goddess be praised!" the King shouted triumphantly, putting a hand over his chest and falling back in his chair. "It's over then, at long last! We shall remember this day forevermore."

Malroth chewed the inside of his cheek silently.  _ You act like you did anything,  _ he thought bitterly.  _ Let Crea out so we can go home. _

Bishop nudged Malroth carefully and subtly while he cleared his throat. "Your majesty, if I may…"

The King looked up. "Yes?"

Bishop swallowed. "I believe it may be prudent to send an investigative team to the monster's hideout in the mountain to guarantee that all of our enemies are dead."

"Mhm! This is sensible. Do you wish to partake in this search?" the King asked thoughtfully.

"In part," Bishop admitted. "In fact, I need to see to my men and take care of the dead. I can lend a few guards, but in truth I hoped the one to spearhead this effort would be Malroth."

He startled. "What?"

"A fine suggestion! Truly, few men are more capable." The King smiled broadly at Malroth. "I trust you are up to the task?"

Malroth raised an eyebrow, not understanding why Bishop had volunteered him for such a thing. "Sure," he intoned, obviously skeptical. He could feel Bishop's eyes boring into the side of his head.  _ Am I missing something? _

"Excellent!" the King laughed. "I have heard tales of your magic sickness, so I presume you will want to walk. Bishop, be sure to introduce Malroth to the guards that will accompany him before you tend to the dead. Perhaps we can spare a few horses to speed up the task, hm?"

Malroth tried to rack his brain for what he was missing. Bishop simply nodded, then hesitated for several seconds to draw Malroth's attention back to the conversation. "Sire, there is yet but one more thing."

The King hummed. "It's unlike you to section your requests into so many pieces. Tell me, what else?"

The room seemed to grow very still as Bishop spoke. "It concerns the builder."

Malroth froze.

"Yes? What of her?" The King frowned. "Spit it out, General!"

Bishop sighed. "I wondered if perhaps this might be the way in which we trust her. And test her. At least marginally enough to release her."

The idea struck Malroth's mind hard.  _ If she can act non-aggressive for the few hours it takes to scour out the place, maybe we could be out of here by tonight.  _

The King stroked his beard. "How so?"

It was Malroth's turn to answer, words tumbling from his mouth. "She'd have to work with us, obviously, because either she stays with us and helps look for monster stragglers, or she beats us up and runs. Or tries to. I don't think she's in any mind to be subtle about what she wants."

Bishop nodded in agreement, clearly relieved Malroth had picked up on his suggestion. "Hence the extra guards to keep an eye on her. Whether or not they'll need extra precautions is unclear; hopefully not, but I shall equip them all the same."

The King pondered this for a few seconds, making Malroth feel anxious at both the prospect or the rejection. He honestly had no idea if Crea would play along with it. He desperately hoped so, especially if they were going to be able to leave Moonbrooke any time soon.

"Very well," the King said at last. "If she relents to helping us in this way, I can overlook her threats to the castle. Bishop, prepare your squadron. Malroth…" He paused. "I suppose you'll want to inform her, will you not?"

Malroth nodded, his throat dry.

The King also nodded slowly. "Then you should do so."

Bishop bowed, turning back towards the throne room doors. Malroth stared in shock for a few seconds before hurriedly nodding in thanks and turning, walking fast after Bishop out through the doors. When they closed behind them, Bishop turned and hovered very close to Malroth's ear, whispering as quietly as he could muster.

"I suggest you try to impress on her that this may be your  _ only _ chance to escape for a long while," he explained. "If she does this, she will not have to apologize. I cannot say the same for any opportunities hereafter." Bishop leaned away, letting him see the determination in his eyes. 

Malroth nodded, turning without another word and running down the long corridor and around the few corners to the courtyard. His mind was laser focused as the guard stepped aside from the entrance, every footstep heavy on each stair as he descended. When he hit the bottom, he could feel determination boiling in his gut. 

Crea's voice reached him before he could see her. "Oh. You're back." She scoffed. "As if I have anything to say to you."

Her tone was abundantly dismissive, but he ignored it as he strode to the side of the cell, grabbing the bars in both of his hands, seeing her lying along the back wall. "Crea, listen, I'm going to get you out of here but you  _ have _ to cooperate right now."

He could see her eye roll from where he stood. "If by cooperate you mean apologize, I'm not interested."

"No, none of that," Malroth insisted. "But something else."

"Always a catch!" she complained, waving her hand in circles above her head. "Typical. Can't just let me go the easy way—"

"Crea!" Malroth snarled. "Just shut up and  _ listen _ to me just this once!"

She fell silent, turning her head to the side to give him an incredulous stare. He simply grit his teeth. 

"The King offered a way out," he explained, his voice dangerously low. "We defeated the monster army. We need to check on the fortress in the mountain to make sure they're all dead.  _ If _ you can accompany me and a couple guards with no problems, they'll let us go."

"No problems?" she echoed, scoffing again. "As though I'll forget what they did to me."

_ "Crea," _ Malroth said again, more firmly. "If you can do this they'll stop expecting an apology. If you  _ don't  _ and you end up killing anyone or running away, they'll probably keep you here for weeks. Maybe months. We don't have that kind of time."

"I'll spend any amount of time trying to prove people wrong if my pride is on the line."

"And Ketriel? Does he have that kind of time?"

Crea's eyes narrowed.

"It's just a few hours," Malroth hissed. "After that we'll be able to leave and go help Ketriel."

_ "We? _ What part of flinging that locket at you did you not understand?" Crea snapped. "We're done. You're not going with me."

"I promised to get you out of here," he said firmly, ignoring her complaint and the sting that came with it. "And that I would protect you."

She huffed, staring him down for a long minute without saying anything else. 

"Just work with me on this one thing," he whispered. "And then we can go home. Go home and plot a course to the next place."

"Just this  _ one _ thing," she repeated slowly, "and then you'll leave me alone?"

Malroth felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck in warning. There was something  _ too eager _ in the way she was speaking. Something questionable and wrong. But he was already nodding before he could dwell on it for too long. "Yes. We'll go home and be safe. I promised you that."

Crea was quiet as she sat up, her back against the wall and staring as though she was contemplating something deeper than she let on. But Malroth didn't have time to ask about it since he heard someone else coming down the stairs. He stayed still, listening. 

"Malroth," Bishop greeted, rounding the corner. "How is she?"

"I'm fine," she said loudly, answering for herself. 

Bishop looked at her for a brief moment before nodding at Malroth. "And did she agree?"

"Of course I agreed," Crea complained. "I need out of this stupid dungeon."

Bishop cast a raised eyebrow at her. "There will be consequences if you resist, you know."

"Naturally," she grumbled, emitting a near-silent growl.

"If you hurt any of the guards, or if you flee, you'll be dooming Malroth."

"What?" she questioned, clearly bewildered. "What does he have to do with this?"

"He'll take your place," Bishop said coolly. "You've seen the shackles on the wall. While you're out running away we'll chain him in by his wrists, leaving him to slump against the wall there in defeat while you try in vain to get off the island. Brownbeard is the only way out of here, as you know. And you can only get to him through Moonbrooke Castle. Are you willing to let Malroth suffer like that a second time?"

Malroth looked at Crea, horrified. In a flash, her eyes changed colors from a dull gray to a vibrant ocean blue. But then her eyes faded back to what they'd been before, and with it her expression turned back to anger.

"So you would blackmail me?" She scoffed. "Noble of you Moonbrooke types to threaten me with that."

"Crea," Malroth whispered. 

"Shut up," she grumbled, her eyes not leaving Bishop's face. 

Malroth noticed a subtle  _ strangeness  _ to her voice then. Something he couldn't place.  _ Is she getting sick?  _ he wondered.  _ I guess I never did bring her blankets…  _ He grimaced. 

"Merely precautions," Bishop explained. "I'm sure you understand. We wouldn't want you to make an uninformed decision, now would we?"

Crea scowled again. 

"As such, I'm sure you'll understand a secondary precaution as well." Bishop pulled out what looked like a matching pair of silver bracers.

"Do I want to know?" Crea asked. 

Bishop extended his hand to Malroth, offering him one. "If you please."

Instinctively he took it, but he hesitated and paused before he could put it on. "What does it do?"

Without a word or change to his expression, Bishop took several steps backwards before holding the bracer up near his shoulder. A thin, shimmery golden line appeared, almost like a ribbon, and Malroth could feel it move in his hand as Bishop tugged on it. 

"One for each of you," Bishop said. "To keep you connected. It will also assist with the energy expended by warping and, provided we did it right, help keep you from getting sick." He looked at Crea. "A word of warning– they are only attuned to travel to the mountain warp point and the castle. If you try to warp elsewhere, it will not work."

Crea scoffed, but didn't say anything more. 

Bishop moved again, standing at the cell door. "I trust you understand our precautions."

She glared at him silently, giving no hint of her inner thoughts.

He didn't seem to notice, putting his hand on the cell door handle as he maintained eye contact with her. "You will accept these regulations as they currently stand?"

Crea was silent for a long time, barely moving as she and Bishop simply watched each other for several minutes. Her eyes were intense, almost making it seem that she was calculating something in her mind, like she normally would for blueprints when she was in her right mind. It was when Bishop moved to speak again that she finally spoke, her voice low and dangerous. 

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, plot artifacts! XD


	44. The Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wishing you peace on this (unfortunately) historic day, 6 Jan 2021. wish I had a more peaceful chapter to make up for it.

Malroth could hardly believe how quickly everything mobilized to get them up on the mountain. He shouldn't have been surprised, he realized. But he still was.

In less than half an hour, Bishop had gathered several soldiers to accompany them. Crea kept rubbing at and trying to readjust the bracer locked on her wrist, suspiciously watching the soldiers whenever they came close. Malroth was silent too, trying to focus on the task ahead. They had no idea what was waiting for them up there, and he was worried to speculate what a fight would be like in matching bracers that would only let them get ten feet apart. Definitely something that he hoped wouldn't matter.

When all was accounted for, Bishop handed Malroth a fire sword, the gesture that was met with a raised eyebrow from the both of them.

"Just in case," Bishop said. 

Crea huffed. "What about me?" she demanded. 

"I'd rather you not burn Malroth to a crisp," Bishop replied flatly. "At least  _ he _ has proven himself trustworthy."

Crea growled and Malroth shrunk, shyly putting it on his back.

"And lest you get any ideas," Bishop continued, "we are keeping your bag and both of your hammers. Collateral, of course. I'm sure you understand."

Crea grumbled, but didn't outwardly complain. That alone made Malroth wary.

It wasn't long after that the soldiers gathered in a strange half circle around Malroth, none of them daring to touch Crea. When the scene changed and they arrived in the snow of the mountain, Malroth was amazed at the incredibly  _ small _ feeling in his stomach instead of the weighty nausea that usually accompanied these sorts of magical trips. But then the freezing cold tore his attention from that, and he grumbled as he folded his gloved hands beneath his arms to conserve warmth.

Walking out from the dilapidated, snow-battered cabin, the soldiers spread out. The bright red of their fire swords stood out against the falling snow, and Malroth kept an eye on them as they fanned out in a large and somewhat obvious circle around the two of them. Crea seemed to notice as well, uttering a quiet  _ tch _ under her breath before starting to move forward. He didn't say anything, silently following at her side, though a few feet further apart than he normally would've liked.

The snow from the sky was soft and slow as it fell, leaving the mountain a pure white. The bridge to the monster's fortress was just around the corner, and the guards were wary as they approached, trying to crane their heads to try and see any movement. Crea had no such reservations, confidently striding across the bridge with Malroth in tow. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for any evidence of a monster ambush, just like—

"Do you remember the last time we were here?"

Malroth turned at Crea's question, observing the side of her face as she kept her eyes strictly forward. "What about it?" he asked. 

She sneered. "We came with Warwick. Remember? And the mirror was here. To make us think Anessa was a double-crosser, obviously."

He nodded glumly, still looking around. "If only we'd known."

"Wouldn't have saved his ass from near-death so often if I'd known," she scoffed. "Hell, maybe I would've pushed him in the way of more monsters on occasion. Fear of death? Tch, I doubt it. I bet he just wanted to feel special and he wasn't getting it from the humans."

Malroth sighed. "I wonder why the mirror didn't show him differently if he was already so corrupted. He had the heart of a monster, that's for sure."

Crea shrugged. "At least he's dead now. Which is a bit of a shame, really. I'd kill him again if I could."

They trudged softly and carefully through the empty courtyard, glancing around them for any trace of monsters. There were several dead bonfires littered around the ground and darkened sconces on the wall, all life seemingly gone for now. Malroth followed Crea up the crumbling stairs, up to the second floor to observe around them. It too was empty, only sparse remnants of previous occupants. Crea vocalized an exasperated sigh while Malroth kept looking around, taking several minutes to decide for himself that the place was truly empty. He sighed quietly in relief.

"Malroth…"

He turned at her call, wary at the softness in her voice until he saw her vacant and lost expression. She was staring strangely at the wall with unseeing eyes, clearly lost in her thoughts. Following her gaze for a moment but not seeing anything, his eyebrow went up. 

"Where…?" Her voice was aimless, unfocused and odd. It made him feel strange. Like she was waking from a long dream.

He shook his head. That made no sense. Instead, he whispered to her. "What is it?"

Crea blinked suddenly, her eyes regaining the hardness they'd acquired over the last few weeks. She looked back at him with a frown. "Are we done yet?" she grumbled, defensively crossing her arms as she watched the guards finally venture across the bridge to the half-destroyed fortress.

Malroth frowned, wondering about her strange look that he'd just witnessed. "I think so," he said, trying not to give it more importance than it deserved. "So I guess now we—"

A solid blast of ice hit them, making both of them yell in surprise as they raised their arms over their eyes. It took several minutes for the sudden storm to recede, but once it did and they lowered their arms, Malroth could see the fury in Crea's eyes.

_ "Frostburns," _ she scowled, swiping the snow from her hair. "They must be what's making it so cold up here and snow so much back at the castle… And I don't even have a fire sword! What am I supposed to do? Frickin'..." She growled, the rest of her threats incomprehensible under her breath.

Malroth largely ignored her outburst, sweeping his gaze over the landscape outside the crumbled walls. When nothing presented itself, he tugged on Crea's hand. "We should go look for them."

She yanked her hand from his grasp. "Don't touch me."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but released a short sigh instead. "Then hurry up and help me find them."

Crea grumbled but did as he asked, huffing and stomping back down to the courtyard and over the bridge. Malroth followed, meeting the confused looks of the accompanying soldiers as they passed them on the bridge.

"We need to thin out the Frostburns," he explained quickly, still in tow of Crea's bracer. "There's nothing left in the fortress."

The soldier nodded, turning and barking orders to the others as Crea led them off into the snow.

The Frostburns had always only lived on this mountain for some reason– a fact that Malroth was grateful for and didn't see fit to question. And fortunately it didn't take long before they found their first group of Frostburns either, a small group of only a handful of the strange blue creatures living near the mountain path. Malroth could feel the impulse in his legs to run forward and fight when he saw them, but forced himself to stay put considering Crea didn't have a weapon. The two of them merely watched as the soldiers made quick work of them with their own fire swords, then set off to find more. And yet for as many of the ice monsters they felled, the snow continued to sporadically swirl around them, slowing and even sometimes completely halting their advance. Malroth had to wonder what else would be hiding up here to make the snow so fierce.

Unfortunately, his answer seemingly made itself apparent when eventually, on the highest peak, they found a family of at least twenty of them, all dancing obliviously around a slightly larger one in the middle. 

Malroth frowned at the sight from over a dozen yards away, tucked safely behind a boulder despite the Frostburn's ignorance. Crea and the other soldiers were hidden from view as well, tentatively peeking out to see the group. 

"Any ideas?" Crea crossed her arms, annoyance undercutting her tone. "We've gotta keep the bigger one from running off, at least."

Malroth nodded. "I think they're backed up to a cliff—"

"You only  _ think _ so?" Crea hissed.

He frowned, taking a deep breath before trying again. "As far as I can tell, there's a cliff behind them. So all we'd have to do is fan out and collapse on them." He snorted at himself. "And then hopefully we attack so fast that they freeze and let us shatter them with no problems." He smirked.

Crea gave an unimpressed look at his wordplay. "Cute."

Malroth rolled his eyes. "Do you have a better idea?"

She shrugged. "Whatever. I just know I wanna be in the middle so I can see their stupid faces go wide with horror."

"The middle would be dangerous without a sword," Malroth grunted.

"Oh, I thought protecting me was your  _ job. _ Is it not?" Crea sneered.

Growling beneath his breath, Malroth turned to the captain of the soldiers, ignoring Crea's barbed comments. "Split your men and have half sneak to the other side. Crea and I will get into position. Find some sort of signal and then pincer them when you're ready. It shouldn't be a long fight but—" 

The wind kicked up again to make them all pause, raising their arms to shield their faces. The snow was somehow colder now, as well as sharp and stinging. A long minute later and it subsided, making Malroth growl as he put his arm down.

"But we can't afford to let any get away," he finished. The Captain nodded, turning to his men and doling out orders. 

Crea scoffed. "So we're just going to rush them and hack and slash? Refined."

"They die instantly to fire. Does it need to be refined?" Malroth crept forward, keeping an eye on the Frostburns. He glanced back to make sure she was following, relieved that she was at least trying not to draw attention to herself. "And anyway, I'm hoping not to get too close. I don't want anything to happen to you."

She snorted but didn't respond. 

Once they were in position, Malroth looked carefully from one side to the other, observing the groups of soldiers. Everything was still and quiet until a shrill whistle cut through the air, causing both groups to rise and rush forward. Malroth stood with them, striding forward to cut off the Frostburn's escape. Fortunately the monsters were indeed caught off guard, the fire swords from the soldiers evaporating several of them into steam within seconds. 

Relieved, Malroth exhaled a large cloud of steam from his nose as he watched the fight continue.  _ Thank the Goddess. _

But suddenly the wind changed, kicking up swirling snow that made him raise his arms to shield his eyes once more. The sharp shards of ice were back, stinging against his ears as the cold air felt like it passed effortlessly through his clothes. When it died down he shivered, looking up to see the fight still going well with the soldiers. Malroth frowned, his fighting sense tingling from something new nearby. Something… big. 

Turning around to look for it, his eyes were immediately drawn to a large, looming figure right behind him. Before he could accurately identify it, he felt the bracer tug on his wrist and he obeyed his instinct to dive out of the way. 

Crashing into the snow, Malroth hurriedly flipped onto his back and felt his eyes go wide. Another Frostburn had snuck up behind them, but this one easily broached ten feet tall. Its fist was in the snow where he'd been standing, and it's beady black eyes seemed to mock him. Malroth scrambled to his feet while pulling the sword from his back, growling. The Frostburn sneered, raising its other arm to try to smash him again. Malroth jumped back, feeling light pressure on his wrist for a brief moment but giving it no mind. Once he landed on his feet he swung at its hand, the creature recoiling in a high pitched squeal as it brought its streaming hand back towards its body. 

"Watch it!"

Malroth glanced over at Crea's outburst, seeing her face turn an angry shade of red. 

"You almost pulled me in the way of that!" she accused. 

Internally he growled. Fighting with the bracers was just as dangerous as he thought. "Sorry."

Crea put her hands on her hips. "Be more careful!"

But Malroth had already turned his attention back to the Frostburn, watching it regenerate its fingers and hand. He grimaced.  _ This one's not so easy.  _

The Frostburn reared back again and Malroth was moving, dashing away from its arm and towards its long torso. He sliced at its hip and leg, satisfied at the roar that greeted him in return. Smirking, Malroth turned to continue his assault, only to find a large hand smack his body sideways. 

Tumbling across the ground, Malroth skidded to a halt in the snow, splayed on his back facing the sky. His body complained at the movement, his mind spinning from the blow. And still through his disorientated state he recognized something grabbing at his hand. 

"Give me that," Crea snapped, pulling the sword from his palm. "If you set it on fire it dies. It's not  _ that _ hard."

Nausea gripped his stomach as she hurled his words back at him. "But—!"

"Just don't fall behind!" she ordered, squaring off against the Frostburn. 

Malroth hurried to obey, standing and taking a few shaky steps after her. The Frostburn moved and so did she, and he had no choice but to follow her, dodging the same attacks while staying in range of the invisible thread that connected them. With lightning precision Crea hacked and stabbed at any part of the monster that came near her, sending large plumes of steam into the air. Malroth couldn't watch very well but danced around the both of them anyway, his senses of danger telling him he should  _ not _ be so close without a weapon. But he had no choice. 

A flurry of movements and she managed to position in front of it, stabbing her sword up into and through the chest of the monster. It screamed and reared, forcing the sword from her hand as it stayed lodged in its body. The Frostburn took a single staggering step backwards, trying to grasp at the hilt for a moment before screaming and bursting into water. It splashed lifelessly across the snow and the sword hit the wet ground with a smack, the area around them going quiet and still. 

Malroth looked over his shoulder to see a soldier vanquish the last of the Frostburns. The soldiers looked relieved, but it turned back into wariness as they all started to group together and approach. Malroth felt the sunlight as he stood, looking up to find the cloudy sky starting to clear, with wisps of blue already peeking from between the clouds. He sighed with relief. 

"Well you know what they say, if you wanna get anything done, you've gotta do it yourself," Crea scoffed, setting a hand on her hip. "Can we go back now?"

Malroth walked through the puddle wordlessly, taking the sword and returning it to his back. He returned to Crea's side, not making eye contact.

"Lady Crea, Sir Malroth," the captain addressed, saluting. "I believe we have vanquished them all."

"Clearly," Crea mocked, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "Which is why I asked if we can go now!"

Malroth turned to look at her, a defeated feeling rising up the back of his throat despite the victory. "Yeah," he said, trying not to sigh. "I think you're right. Let's go."

The soldiers again circled up around them, and, after accounting for everyone, they all disappeared in a flash of blue light. 


	45. The Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they leave Moonbrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *feelsbad*

They landed in front of Erdrick's beacon, the soldiers scattering as quickly as they landed. Crea tried to leave too but was held back by the bracers, making her growl as she turned back around.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Malroth swallowed thickly, not even bothering to nod as he started to walk. Passing through a number of doors, he followed her right into the throne room where the King was waiting. 

"Ah! You've returned! And in one piece no less. Well, two pieces. One each." He chuckled to himself. "Well? How was it?"

Crea gave an audible  _ hmph, _ looking off to the side. Malroth took a deep breath. 

"Empty," he said, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "The fortress, at least. We realized there were a lot more Frostburns than there should be, so we thinned them out. The sky cleared up after that, so I think that's why it's been colder lately."

"Excellent!" the King declared. "Then you've solved two of our problems when we sent you to merely check on only one! Most marvelous indeed."

"Shall I remove the bracers then, your majesty?" Bishop asked, emerging from his position against the wall where Malroth hadn't seen him. 

The King nodded. "In a moment. First, I want you to escort them to their boat. You can remove it there and wish them farewell."

"Thank the Goddess," Crea mumbled under her breath. 

"Do you need to retrieve anything from your room?" Bishop asked. 

Malroth chewed his lip, watching the back of Crea's head to see if she would answer. "I don't think so," he mumbled once it was obvious she wouldn't. "Just our hammers and her bag."

"I have that here, fear not." Nodding, Bishop patted his waist. "I'll return it all at the dock as well."

"So we can go now?" Crea pressed.

The King nodded, though he looked hesitant to say what was on his mind. "Thank you both for your help. If we had a treasury, I would surely let you take something from it. But I only have my gratitude with which to thank you, therefore it is yours."

Malroth heard Crea's near-indistinguishable scoff.

"However, it has come to my attention that yet again you are leaving Moonbrooke with less of the amiable partnership than when you arrived. I hesitate to send you off when such hostile feelings swirl beneath you two like a storm, when you should be—"

"Good grief, don't start on this or we won't get out of here before dark," Crea snapped. "Just let us leave!"

The King pursed his lips. "May the Goddess protect you both."

"Yeah, right," she grumbled, turning away. "As if."

Bishop appeared at Malroth's side before he could react to her. "Let's be off, then."

Crea was the first to move, striding for the throne room door. Malroth followed towards the bell chamber and out through the rear door near their room, with Bishop close behind.

The air was cool, but not as cold as it had been. Malroth was sure it would only be a few hours before he could comfortably go without his thick undershirt again. Crea was several steps ahead of them as they walked, and it wasn't until they reached the top of the stairs that Malroth realized it was only Bishop that accompanied them. 

"Shouldn't there be a bunch of you escorting us out of here?" Malroth murmured.

Bishop shook his head, replying softly. "It's obvious she wants to leave, so there's no security risk. No need to irritate an already-delicate situation with an extra dozen guards."

Malroth nodded, feeling his stomach clench and heart sink as they passed beneath the reconstructed archway, turning to walk towards the small alcove where they had saved Anessa. "At least you get to go back to normal," he mumbled beneath his breath. If Bishop heard, he did not respond.

It was silent the rest of the way down. Malroth peered into the alcove as they passed it, remembering the changes in Anessa at the end of their last visit, as well as her changes in the months after. The weeks immediately following their return from Malhalla had been especially troublesome, Anessa having developed the habit of apologizing every time she saw him, which irritated him to no end. Still, it had been some months later after everything had calmed down that Crea had a late-night burst of hyperfocus to finally finish her designs on the Isle's castle. And that, in turn, had led Malroth to find himself at the door to Anessa's room. Crea had sent him to ask her about some this-or-that detail about Moonbrooke's castle, or something. He didn't quite remember. In either case, the way Anessa seemed to reactively slump at his presence confused him. So he asked, after cutting off yet another apology. 

"Doubt, once sown, is so overwhelmingly difficult to overcome," Anessa had said, rubbing at her arm. "I felt bad enough when my inaction almost heralded the end of this world, but now that you two are, ah… well,  _ together… _ I don't know how to explain this. Simply, I believe I must try to atone for my wrongs, deep and long lasting though they may be. I must try to quell what doubt you may have about me. Or Crea. If not me, then at least she does not deserve that fate."

With a smirk, Malroth had told Anessa she was being stupid, and that he had way more fun with Crea now that they were _ together.  _ Anessa had practically flushed scarlet with embarrassment at his insinuations, but at the same time she seemed relieved. And apparently she was, enough that her apologies stopped after that. 

Malroth sighed deeply as they left the tunnel, seeing the dock and Brownbeard's ship come into view. She had been right about the doubt, it turned out. But this time, there wasn't anyone left to blame. This time they had sown their own doubt, and there was no way of knowing how that would turn out in the end.

_ If there is an end, _ he thought glumly.

They arrived at the dock several minutes later, and Crea whirled around with her hands on her hips. "Okay, we're here, can I have my bag now?"

Bishop eyed her for a moment. "Once I take the bracers back, yes."

She stuck out her arm insistently, huffing with impatience. In return, Bishop silently unlocked the mechanism holding it in place, allowing her wrist to slip out. She rubbed her arm while watching him distrustfully. "And my bag?"

Wordlessly, Bishop reached to his waist and did as she asked, pausing to retrieve Malroth's hammer from inside before holding the bag out. Crea snatched it from his hand, muttering darkly to herself. 

"What will you do now that Moonbrooke is at peace?" Bishop asked her. 

"Whatever I want," she grumbled, putting her bag back where it belonged on her hip, deciding to leave her hammer inside for now. "Not that it's any of your business."

Bishop sighed, exhaling through his nose. "You'll be kind to Malroth, won't you?"

"Kind?" she repeated, looking up at Bishop before glancing over at Malroth. Her expression wavered, reflected in the swirling colors of her eyes. "Yeah. Sure." She turned away, moving up the dock and onto the boat. 

"It was a good effort," Malroth mumbled, sliding the bracer off his wrist and holding it out along with the fire sword. Bishop accepted both and held his dark hammer out in return, which Malroth immediately settled on his back. It was little comfort. He tried to turn to leave without another word, but Bishop grabbed his arm before he could get any further. 

"Malroth."

He looked back, seeing Bishop's solemn expression. There were so many emotions in his eyes that Malroth didn't understand, nor did he feel like he could ask. 

Bishop took a deep breath. "Be careful," he said softly. "You're the only one that can save her. You're the only one that can shoulder this burden. And for that, I am sorry. Truly. I am terribly sorry."

Malroth nodded, looking down at his feet, feeling the hand disappear from his arm. Yet, neither of them moved. 

Bishop offered a small smile. "You'll always have a friend in Moonbrooke," he said. "I'll always keep an extra cup of tea for you."

"Thanks," Malroth whispered, looking up at the boat. "I hope I survive this to take you up on that someday."

When it was clear Bishop had nothing else to say, Malroth stepped further onto the dock, keeping his eyes steadily on the ground ahead of him until he got on the boat. He looked up, seeing Crea standing at the prow, arms folded and turned away as she looked at the horizon. He could only guess what was going through her head now.

Without knowing exactly what he was doing, he took a step towards her. "Crea?" he asked quietly.

She was still for several seconds before turning around. "What?"

"Where are we going now?"

She huffed, turning back to the open water. "Home."

Malroth blinked. "But what about Ketriel?"

"What does it matter? I'm going alone."

"But—"

"I'm going alone!" Crea declared louder, squeezing her arms across her chest. "I need to be alone. We're done, remember? Leave me alone."

Malroth felt his chest constrict, as if a snake had wormed its way beneath his ribs to squeeze his lungs. Barely breathing he retreated, slipping past Brownbeard and settling among the cargo at the back of the ship. Curling up, he sat down, squeezing his eyes closed. He could form no rational thoughts. He only knew that his heart felt like it was burning. And that it would be a long journey home.

* * *

As soon as he saw the Isle many hours later, Malroth felt his heart sink. Though how it could drop further than it already had, he didn't know.

The trip had been horribly, stiflingly silent. Crea hadn't bothered to speak at all since they left the dock in Moonbrooke, and he thought it just as well. He lingered at the back of the boat among Brownbeard's cargo for the entire trip, turning Crea's pendant over in his hands. Well, it was his pendant now. The thought made him sick, and he had to resist the urge multiple times to simply hurl it over the side and into the ocean.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Crea was first off the boat under the pale sunset, as usual. Malroth lingered behind her, wanting to keep his distance, watching her stretch and start to walk towards the desert tunnel. A shout made them both freeze.

"Crea!"

Malroth flicked his eyes over and felt his heart make several confused rolls at seeing Damara striding briskly after her. He stayed frozen where he was, not even having left the boat yet.

"Crea, what on earth happened? I haven't heard from you in weeks! Is okay? I was getting worried."

She turned, regarding Damara blankly. "I need to be alone." Her voice sounded hollow, unfeeling. Nothing like it should've.

Damara frowned. "Are you sick? You sound unwell. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"I need to be alone," Crea murmured again. Her eyes swept over Malroth, and he felt his skin prickle in surprise and helplessness at how…  _ empty _ her eyes looked. The eye contact felt to last a lifetime, and when she finally turned to walk away, he had to consciously remind himself to breathe. His eyes were burning already.

Damara turned once she lost sight of Crea, glancing back at him frozen on the boat. Her eyes widened in alarm. Probably at how feeble he looked, he thought.

"Malroth?" she whispered, worry and fear punctuating her voice. It was a silent invitation and he heard it loud and clear, finally gaining the courage to put one foot in front of the other to step onto dry land.

He thought it strange how his legs felt like air, gliding onto land in a haze of autopilot. Malroth clenched a fist at his stomach, as if that would do anything. He stopped next to her, gazing up at her face and searching for answers.

Damara's eyebrow creased slightly. "What in the Goddess' name happened to you two?" she mumbled. "You look pale, like your life was sucked clean from your bones. Are  _ you _ sick?"

Taking a shuddering breath, Malroth shook his head. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop the torrent that could escape his mouth if he spoke.

"I don't understand," she said.

Again, through the haze that seemed to make him move without realizing it, he extended his fist out to her, like trying to give her something. Eyebrow raising, she placed her hand under his, catching Crea's pendant in her palm when he opened his fist. Her eyes went wide when she saw it, snapping her eyes back to his face, wordlessly questioning. Malroth shrugged with one shoulder, dropping his hand to his side and looking sideways at the ground.

"Tell me what happened," Damara demanded softly, her voice hardening.

Unable to meet her gaze, he opened his mouth to speak. But the words were stuck in his throat, stuck behind the bitterness, pain, and sorrow that had secretly consumed his last two weeks. It felt like he was drowning without a drop of water in reach. He gasped instead, immediately sighing.

Before he knew it, Damara had wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. His nose pressed against her inner shoulder and he could smell the slight fragrances of Aletia in her clothing. But more than that, she hid his eyes. Even though no one was around to judge him, covering his eyes made him start to tremble, the dam beginning to crumble. She had always shown him such kindness, a consideration that had been denied him in recent days.

It broke him.

Malroth's knees gave out and Damara caught him, gently sinking to the ground together. No sooner than they were sitting he started to sob, hot tears beginning to pool on her shoulder. Wordlessly she held him, holding the back of his head to keep him safely tucked away from the world, rubbing at his back. She was silent, listening to his distressed wails, his pain and helplessness communicating through his desperate cries. Damara knew better than to tell him to relax, or to calm down, or to stop crying. This grief was too tangible to stop, and she wisely stepped aside from its torrent. Instead, she pressed her cheek to the side of his head, squeezing him tightly.

Malroth wept fiercely, his whole body releasing his stress through his eyes, leaving the rest of him limp. He knew Damara was there holding him, but internally he felt alone, finally having a moment to process and grieve. It was overwhelming, feeling the pain of everything all at once. He wondered if maybe he would cry forever.

"I don't know what to do," he finally sobbed. "She's… possessed… just like I was and there's nothing I can do to stop it…!"

Malroth wailed in distress, making Damara hold him tighter. It was several minutes before he ran out of tears, but he still helplessly gasped into her shoulder, trembling.

Damara exhaled softly. "Malroth," she said gently. "My child. My little star. I am so, so sorry. You don't deserve this. And I'm sorry for what I'm about to ask you." She swallowed harshly, somehow hearing that he was listening to her. "I need you to tell me what happened."

He trembled against her for several long moments, the flash flood of emotions leaving long trails of debris through his mind. Gathering his thoughts as much as he was able, Malroth nodded and began to tell her, in the most precise manner he could muster, everything he could about Crea and the voice.

Beside them, on a small scrap of paper fallen from Damara's grasp and torn from a larger letter, two words in Malroth's handwriting faced the sky.

_ Please come. _


	46. The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a pillar appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> out of the frying pan...

It was some time later when Malroth finally finished telling her everything he knew. The sky was darker now, and the area around them was lit up by moonlight. Still, Damara was silent for some time after, searching for words. It was not an easy tale to digest.

"I… Goddess. Malroth, I am sorry."

He nodded against her shoulder. What could he say to that?

"I do not understand," Damara continued, her voice low. "Why would this Ketriel take such lengths to separate you? If he simply wants her to rebuild for him and train up another, then there would be no harm in your companionship…"

Malroth slumped, and Damara stiffened.

"Forgive me, I'm thinking too far ahead. You have already suffered much, you don't need my help in the matter."

"What am I supposed to do now?" Malroth whispered. "I can't keep doing this. She doesn't want to see me anymore. With my luck, she'll probably try to leave in the middle of the night without telling anyone and then she could be gone for good for all I know." He hesitated. "I'm not ready to be alone…"

"And you won't be," Damara insisted. "I'm here, for what little comfort that gives you."

He sighed. It was unfortunately little. 

"But we won't give up," she encouraged. "In a little while, we can think about what to do next. For now, I would like to get you somewhere quiet. Further up the beach, perhaps? I saw a small pier nearby that looked adequate."

Malroth nodded weakly, shutting his eyes as he focused on the new task. "There's a room near there," he mumbled. Damara was already standing, helping Malroth to his feet. 

The two of them ambled together over the irregular rocks, wading through the shallow water to arrive at the small platform. Malroth eyed it as they passed it, the bonfires still burning, the distant memories of promises trying to echo through his mind. It made his heart hurt. Again. 

Passing through the weathered door, they found themselves in the same ramshackle room that Malroth remembered from his first night on the island. Well, first night of his life, really. The light from the small pier illuminated the space a little, given there was still no ceiling. There was a charred circle on the stone floor from where they'd left the first bonfire, long since disintegrated. The straw beds were all still in passable shape, all in the same places where they'd left them. Damara helped him to the closest one, helping him to sit on it.

It was blessedly quiet, away from the waves. Malroth wrapped his arms across his chest, covering the pendant, deliberately staring at his feet. The change in scenery had shut off his mind, and he had no interest in turning it on again for a long while. 

Damara sat down next to him, cross legged and with her hands in her lap. She simply joined him in silence for some time, occasionally glancing over at his face to see if his expression had changed at all. Eventually, she took a deep breath. 

"Do you remember Aletia?" she asked quietly. "And the night the Shaman appeared at the fortress?"

He had seen the scene many times in nightmares since then, rounding the corner while on the way home only to find Crea suspended in the air, petrified next to Zeligon's smug face. "What about it?" Malroth mumbled.

Damara smiled softly. "Do you remember when I tried to stop you?"

"And you had to tackle me to the ground with Ferrum to keep me from going? Yeah, I remember. Why?"

She paused for a moment. "I was thinking about the difference in your reaction between now and then."

Malroth scoffed. "She didn't keep telling me to leave her alone before she got kidnapped."

Damara hummed. "Perhaps. But maybe she didn't have the voice this time to tell you otherwise."

He considered that a few times before he spoke again. "What do you mean?"

"Hargon made you say things, yes? If this Ketriel is anything like Hargon, perhaps he's forcing her to say hurtful things in the same way you were forced to."

"I mean, that's why I left," Malroth murmured, still staring at his feet. "I didn't know what was going on, other than something was wrong and I was saying stuff I didn't want. I guess you could say I was scared. Everyone always depended on Crea for so much, I didn't want to burden her either, so I left to deal with it myself." He sighed. "Not that it ended up helping…"

"Then why should her reaction be so different?" Damara insisted. "Aside from the fact that Ketriel seems to be piloting her more than Hargon ever did you, she's still inside there somewhere. Perhaps she's scared and she's running away to keep from causing pain."

"She promised she wouldn't!" Malroth snapped. "She promised she would always tell me so that I could keep the Hargon things from happening again. She promised she would listen to me, and trust me! And just last week she informed me that she  _ didn't _ trust me anymore. How am I supposed to deal with that, when she stops talking to me so completely? When she refuses to look at me, when it feels like she actively hates me now?" He growled. "Like I'm a burden…"

"Child," Damara whispered, rotating her body so she could hug him directly. "My little star. My son… I am so sorry. Is distressing how much you were forced to put up with for the sake of protecting the woman you love. You've fought so hard. Perhaps is time to rest a little while."

"How could I?" Malroth countered weakly. "I feel so… empty. Like so empty that I've forgotten how to sleep."

"I know. Is the way of grief. But you need to rest and recover. Perhaps then we can know how to recover her mind."

"I don't have time to rest," Malroth mumbled, gently pushing at her arms to make her let go. "If she's struggling like I did, I need to help her. I'm the only one that can do it."

"You are not alone," Damara said, leaning back to look at his face though she didn't let go of his shoulders. "I will help you. You may feel alone, but I promise you are not. There are always many willing to help you."

He stared off into nothingness for several seconds, contemplating her words before he sighed. "Maybe I can ask the Hermit to help me find her," he mumbled. "He can travel faster than any of us."

"But—"

"Damara." Malroth took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Mom. I need to find her. You made me remember what it was like to be alone while Hargon dug in his claws to what was left of me. I can't let that destroy her like it did me."

She searched his eyes for a long time, her gaze hardly moving as she looked for an unnamed something. He wondered for a moment if she would let him go. But his worry slipped away when she eventually nodded, likewise determined. 

"Where is this Hermit?" Damara asked, standing up and offering a hand to him. 

Malroth took it, slowly rising with her help. "Not far," he said softly, reassuring himself as he took the pendant in his palm. "Just up the mountain right by us."

She nodded, motioning to the door and the darkness beyond. "Lead the way. I will follow."

* * *

Crea could hardly see where she was going. 

A splitting headache had overcome her senses as she plotted a course to take the bridge from the desert to the gardens, intent on climbing the mountains there to… do something. She forgot what. But instead, she felt like she'd been walking and wandering for hours. Her hand pressed at her midsection looking for something to hold, but whatever she was looking for wasn't there anymore.

She frowned.  _ What used to be there? _

In the act of trying to remember, she instead remembered… landing at the dock. And walking off the boat, with Malroth nowhere to be seen. She frowned against the heat that blossomed across her forehead. 

_ Where is Malroth? _

She turned, trying to see through the white spots in her vision, glancing around the green field she found herself in now. He was always behind her. Next to her. Nearby. 

"M… Malroth…?"

_ He has left you, _ Ketriel crooned.  _ He no longer wants you. _

Nausea swept through her, making her furrow her brow. That didn't sound right.  _ But he always… he's always there… _ The headache intensified suddenly and she groaned, falling to her hands and knees in the grass.

_ He is gone. What do you truly have if you don't have him? _

"Malroth," she whispered. "Where… are you?"

_ He couldn't understand your genius and so left. But fear not, Crea… I am here, and I understand… _

She gasped against the excruciating pain in her head, grimacing at the bright light that seemed to grow from beneath her.

_ And I will make them worship your creations! _

Crea collapsed to her side, light blinding her even with her eyes closed. Nausea, pain, confusion, regret; so many feelings swept through her all at once. She knew she would likely pass out soon. She groaned, her vision and mind both fading fast.

"Malroth," she murmured, feeling her weight shift as the ground floated away from her. "Malroth… please…"

Rising into the light, she called out weakly, her consciousness slipping away.

"Help… me…"

* * *

Malroth had barely touched the top step under the first temple archway when the sky seemingly burst into flame. Wincing and raising his hand to shield his eyes, he looked up, trying to figure out what happened. He heard Damara gasp beside him, and as his eyes finally adjusted, he saw it.

A bright pillar reached into the sky, swirling and billowing upwards into a cloud.

Malroth was already running. 

Taking the normal path up to the temple, he soon veered off to the right to follow the cliff down to the shallow water. The pendant bounced off his chest as he ran across the sand, his eyes steady on the pillar of light in the field just south of the tablet. He already knew Crea would be there. And it didn't take long to confirm it either– the closer he got, the easier he could see her distinct silhouette floating up inside it. 

Malroth growled, pushing himself forward.  _ So much for an island, you bastard! _

When he reached it, he didn't even slow until he was standing inside the circle, light encompassing him on all sides. A strange feeling spread from his stomach, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was floating upwards too. As he rose into the air, he could see islanders gathered to watch from the top of the cliff. He was certain if he could see their faces, they would be wide-eyed with terror. It was how they often were with strange events like these. Not that he could blame them. 

"Malroth!"

He looked down, seeing Damara reaching up only a few meters below him. Unfortunately he could only wave, not knowing how or if he could even slow down. Not that he wanted to. He looked back up, watching as the clouds neared, instinctively closing his eyes as he approached the end of the light. 

_ You saved me from Hargon's realm, I'll save you from Ketriel's. _

_ I'm not giving up on you yet.  _


	47. The Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Damara and Malroth try to find their way.

A dull yet persistent headache woke Crea from dreams, making her groan as soon as she was aware of it. Exhaustion tugged at her mind, but the pain across her head made it impossible to relax. She knew she wouldn't sleep. Instead, she opened her eyes. 

A large, white, circular room greeted her, leaving her lying in the center of it. She could see a doorway off to the back, and a staircase that circled the center portion off to her side. Beyond that, the marble floor was cool against her cheek, and the room was empty. 

Well, nearly empty. 

"So our fair maiden awakens at last…"

Crea flinched at the voice. "Ketriel," she croaked. "Where am I?"

His voice came from above her– up the staircase, she assumed. It was strange to hear him outside of her head, for once. "My island, of course!" He sounded far too excited about that fact. "I told you I would bring you here."

"Oh." A burst of pain shot across her forehead. "Okay. Then help me. I have a killer headache again and I don't feel like I can move very well."

"Oh, I know. That's by design."

Crea felt a horrified chill run down her spine. "Wh… What?"

"Your headache is much more than a headache, dear Crea." Ketriel chuckled. "It always has been. You'll see."

"What are you doing?" Crea cried, instantly wincing at the sound that worsened her headache. "What's going on?"

"In time, my dear…"

She felt a strange power pull at her eyes, making her want to sleep. She protested as weakly as she could manage, but she could eventually hold off no longer, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Ketriel smiled. "You'll understand in time. Very soon, in fact. Only a day more…"

* * *

Malroth stirred silently, realizing almost immediately that he was sprawled on his belly. He groaned for a moment as he oriented himself, eventually lifting his head a little before pressing himself up on his hands to look around. An endless terrain of clouds sprawled away from him, but no other landmarks stood out. Huffing as he stood up, he looked behind him.

"Damara?" he called. 

He was met with silence. Discomfort swelled in his stomach as he looked around again, grasping the pendant at his chest, wondering if he was going to need to navigate this nothingness alone. But then he heard a groan, and he turned to see Damara clutching her head as she rose to her knees, visible from the other side of a small hill. 

"Damara!" Malroth ran to her side, falling to his knees to hold her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Nodding weakly, she sat up with her hand still on her head. "I think so." She paused, looking around. "I don't suppose you know where we are?"

"No." He shook his head. "I have no idea. I know I saw Crea in the light though, so hopefully we didn't land too far away…"

"You saw Crea?" Damara hummed as she pondered. "Could this be Ketriel's doing, then?"

"I… guess so? I thought he said he had an island though, not some cloud fortress in the sky."

"In all fairness, we're not even sure of that. So far all we've seen are clouds, never mind a fortress."

Malroth pursed his lips, looking around again. "True."

It was silent between them for another few minutes as Damara adjusted, eventually removing her hand from her head and patting Malroth's hand. "We should go."

"Go where?" he protested, removing his hands and watching her stand up. "We don't know where we are. Or even if there's anything here at all!"

"Perhaps." She nodded, swiveling her head to see around them. "But we won't know if we stay here."

He conceded the point again, reluctantly nodding as he stood up next to her. "Alright. Let's go."

They picked a direction and began to walk, the endless cloud landscape looking the same every direction they looked. Malroth wondered if maybe Ketriel was tricking them, keeping them contained in some outer place to get them out of the way while he did… whatever he was planning on. Malroth didn't really want to think about that part.

He sniffed the air some time later, smelling something… odd. "This place is weird," he mumbled. 

"Only now noticing?" Damara chuckled. 

"No. But it's starting to smell strange too."

She hummed. "Have you always been able to smell so well?"

"Yes?" Malroth tilted his head in confusion. "Why?"

"The rest of us human's sense of smell is not so precise. Most humans can only notice what is very strong." Damara smiled at his bewildered expression. "What I'm saying is we'll follow your nose. Is as good a lead as any when we otherwise have none." Malroth simply nodded, leading the way. 

It was a long time before they came across anything useful, even with following his nose. Every so often he would get a strong whiff of something metallic, and it didn't make much sense until they spotted a fence standing randomly in the clouds. Damara reached out to touch the metal bars when they were close enough. 

"Curious," she said, looking both directions to look for clues. "I would not have expected a fence as part of a cloud."

"Maybe, but we already determined this place was weird." Malroth crossed his arms, frowning. 

Damara nodded. "Also true."

Malroth felt something grab his attention off to his right, and he turned to peer down along the fence. An indistinct mound caught his eye, making him take a careful breath. "I think I see something."

Damara turned to speak, but Malroth was already off and striding quickly along the fence, so she only followed. Anxiously he touched the pendant against his chest, hoping they would find Crea soon. In truth, he wasn't sure how much time they had, and that only made him even more nervous. 

It wasn't very long before he realized the mound in question had wings, and that the mound itself was a person slumped in a chair. At least, it looked like a person. It sat overlooking a gate, seemingly asleep.

"A gate," Damara mused once they were close enough for her to recognize it. "But no gatekeeper."

Malroth frowned. "What are you talking about? He's right there." Defiantly, he grabbed the bar, shaking it to try to wake the winged being up. Unfortunately, the fence was sturdy and made no noise. "Hey!" he yelled instead. "Wake up! And let us in!"

The being snerked and snorted until it was awake, raising its head and blearily adjusting its eyes. It looked like an old man with thinning white hair in a band around the back of his head and by his ears, his white wings ruffling gracefully as he woke up. When his sight was restored enough to see them, he snorted. "Lost mortals," he said, sounding pitiful. "A shame, really." The being yawned, ducking his head back down to keep sleeping. 

"Hey!" Malroth yelled again. "I wasn't done. I'm talking to you!"

Damara raised her eyebrow, peering between the bars. "Malroth, there is nothing."

"He's right there!" Malroth motioned with his hands. "How can you not see him?"

The being raised its head curiously. "You can see me?"

Malroth scoffed. "Of course I can see you, I'm not blind."

"No, of course not." The being unfurled its body, moving closer to the gate. 

"Are you suggesting I am blind?" Damara wondered aloud, tilting her head. 

"No!" Malroth growled. "Stop that."

"But _why_ can you see me?" The being hummed, observing him carefully. "Typically your mortal kind are oblivious to us."

"What if I wasn't always mortal?" Malroth wondered, keeping his eye on the mysterious person. "Does that make a difference?"

"Malroth," Damara said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "Are you feeling okay?"

He scowled, exasperated. "Yes!"

"Peace, mortal," the being said, raising his hands. "Give me a moment." 

There was a brief silence before he uttered an incantation, and Damara jumped at Malroth's side. 

"Ah," she murmured. "I see now."

"Yes," the being smiled. "Now you may see me. For a short time, at least. I am Cygnus."

"So are you going to open the gate or not?" Malroth grumbled.

"Your impatience is astonishing." Cygnus frowned, turning his withering stare to Malroth. "I am aware your mortal lives are short, but try to show some respect, would you?"

"Sir," Damara tried. "Forgive us. The love of his life has been taken and we managed to follow her this far. Would you please allow us to pass?"

"Taken?" Cygnus tilted his head, shifting his attention to Damara. "A mortal? Why would a mortal be taken?"

"Is what we intend to find out, if you please."

Cygnus shook his head. "While that doesn't make much sense to me, I still cannot allow you both to pass."

"Give up the holy act and let us in, you old coot!" Malroth snapped.

"Malroth!" Damara hissed. "Stop it!"

"Malroth?" Cygnus repeated. "Vessel of the monster? Now I most certainly won't let you in!"

"I'm not a vessel!" Malroth cried. "I'm just a human!"

"So you say," Cygnus scoffed. "But the Master of Destruction would be so bold to make a disguise to sneak into Yggdrasil's roots and poison it!"

"What does Yggdrasil have to do with this?" Malroth snapped, then shook his head to clear the thought. "Never mind. Listen. First off, that guy is dead. Second off, he couldn't make anything if his life depended on it, so how could he _create_ a disguise?"

Cygnus glared for a silent moment. "You may have a point," he scowled. "But I still cannot let you both inside."

"Why not!?" Malroth demanded. "I need to save my girlfriend from Ketriel!"

A glimmer of something passed over Cygnus's face, but it was gone before Malroth could identify it. Cygnus raised a pair of spectacles hanging from his neck up to his nose, his eyes going slightly wider as he got a better look at the guests at his gate. Damara hummed thoughtfully at Malroth's side, making him turn to look at her. 

"Cygnus," she said softly. "Just where are we?"

"The realm of the Celestrian, of course."

Damara paled.

"What does that mean?" Malroth asked.

"The Celestrians are the ones that care for Yggdrasil," Damara whispered. "Of course, I had only ever heard of them in passing legend, but—"

"Rest assured we are no legend," Cygnus interrupted. "And unless you are willing to die you must return to your mortal home. I am sorry."

"Die?!" Malroth demanded. "What, you think you're going to stop us?" He growled, reaching for his hammer over his shoulder.

Cygnus shook his head. "Not you," he said, making Malroth stutter. "Her."

Stunned silence fell between them. Cygnus looked rather amused.

"What do you mean I would die?" Damara eventually asked. "Would Malroth not? Why would that be so?"

Cygnus harrumphed, his eyes comically large in the lens of his glasses. "Now that I can see who you are, it is clear he was one of the two that created his world. That very act proffered him a piece of divinity, offering him sight of us and protection in our lands. And the protection and blessing of the Goddess beside." He peered down his spectacles at her. "If he were to come in here, due to that, he would be fine. I cannot say the same for you. Hence, I cannot let _both_ of you in here. Only him."

Malroth looked to Damara with wide eyes, helpless shock painted across his features. She lowered her gaze from Cygnus to the ground, pondering.

"Damara—"

"Peace, child." Damara looked up to meet his gaze, determination and sadness somehow existing in the same expression. "I will not die. Not today."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Malroth felt conflicting fear and relief, as well as anger, knowing he would be able to continue but that he would have to do so alone. Damara swallowed thickly before turning back to Cygnus.

"I do not know how to get home, but is assumed you will help me?" Cygnus nodded and Damara continued. "Will you permit me a moment with my son?"

Cygnus looked between the two of them before nodding, looking amused as he walked off from his chair. Damara wasted no time to take the few strides to stop in front of Malroth, taking his shoulders between her hands before hugging him. 

"Damara…" He whispered into the fabric of her shirt. He already felt lonely.

"Malroth." She was warm, already stroking the back of his wild ponytail to try to reassure him. "I would go with you wherever you needed me. But I will not die now, so that I can instead aid you when you return home."

Malroth nodded against her shoulder, feeling the pendant dig into his bare chest. He felt numb. One more disaster to deal with on top of Crea getting kidnapped and brainwashed and everything else.

"Listen to me," Damara whispered. "I know you will succeed. You will find her. You will save her. I will be waiting for you at your home. Yes?"

Trembling slightly, Malroth forced himself to nod. Damara pursed her lips before sighing out of her nose.

"You are not alone," she murmured.

"Yes I am," he growled. "I'm always alone anymore."

Damara was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps physically. But allow me to see if I can change that."

Malroth looked at her face as she pulled away, seeing determination in her gaze despite not looking at him. Following her eyes, he turned a bit to see Cygnus returning. 

"Cygnus," she greeted. 

"Are you ready?" he asked, ignoring her pleasantries. 

Damara nodded. "Nearly. I hoped I could ask for your assistance in something first."

He snorted. "Well, you can ask."

Malroth felt anticipation as Damara chose her words carefully. "I do not want him to get lost on his own," she said finally. "Is possible to have some sort of guide, mayhaps? He needs to speak with Ketriel and then return home. I know you know that name– is clear on your face."

Cygnus raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course I know him," he retorted. _"Everyone_ knows Ketriel."

"Then a guide would be able to help with this, would it not?"

"I never said I wouldn't, girl. Save your persuasion." 

Malroth felt wary as Cygnus closed his eyes to concentrate, unease growing as a silent glow appeared behind his lofty wings. Cygnus opened his eyes with a sly smirk.

"It is done. He will have his guide."

Apprehension gnawed at Malroth for a couple seconds as the purported guide adjusted out of sight, another pair of wings stretching out from behind Cygnus. Damara squeezed his elbow, making him look over at her to share a reaffirming smile. But a gasp and a shout soon snapped his attention back to the gate.

_"Malroth?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a good thing I'm updating daily right now, else my cliffhangers would likely get me a lot of grumpy comments. lol.
> 
> also hello dq9 references to a game I've never played! *dodges the tomatoes*


	48. The Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth discovers what Ketriel _really_ wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @Salticbae for letting me borrow her OC! :3

Malroth felt an acute sense of bewilderment as he laid eyes on the Celestrian boy. He was dressed rather peculiarly compared to Cygnus, but there was something about it that reminded him of Crea's dress– probably the red chevron along the bottom half of his tunic and the cream on the other half. He had yellow stockings that were pulled up over his knees, and a bright yellow belt hugged his waist sporting a bright blue slime in the center circle. The boy's hair was exceptionally round, blond at the top fading to brown on the bottom. His eyes were wide as Malroth met them, clearly trying to find words of some kind.

"How long has it been that your _hair_ grew back?" the boy exclaimed. 

Not that they were words that held any meaning.

"I've never cut my hair," Malroth said slowly, wariness increasing with every passing moment.

The boy looked angry. "Then who are you pretending to be my best friend? Knock it off and get out of here!"

"I'm here to save my girlfriend whether you like it or not, numbskull," Malroth snapped. 

"You don't have a girlfriend!"

"You're lucky I can't rip your head off because of that stupid gate in the way!"

"Imogene," Cygnus intoned, stopping the next sentence out of the boy's mouth. "Peace, already. This one is from another world, different from your own."

Imogene's eyes lit up in understanding, though his posture stayed rigid and distrusting. Malroth mirrored, crossing his arms and huffing. 

"Are you certain he can help my son?" Damara asked quietly, looking up at Cygnus's smug expression.

"Of course I am," he scoffed, then yawned. "Now if you are all quite finished, I have duties to attend to."

"What duties?" Malroth challenged. "You were asleep before we got here!"

"I can rescind our arrangement if you'd rather." Cygnus looked pointedly at Malroth with a raised eyebrow. 

Malroth wanted to fight, but he knew he needed to cooperate to get to Crea. He growled, turning his head aside and hearing Cygnus chuckle.

"I shall return your mother and then let you inside. And then _hopefully_ get some peace and quiet back around here."

Malroth felt Damara's hand back on his shoulder, and he turned to her.

"Be safe, my son," she whispered. He nodded, putting his hand over hers and trying to absorb some of her confidence and determination. Cygnus coughed and they separated, Malroth taking several steps back. The last he saw of Damara before the bright light encompassed her was her sincere smile, but even he was not so oblivious to miss the concern underlying the gesture. He gave a little wave, and she was gone in a flash of light.

The squealing of hinges made him turn around, seeing the massive gates slowly open and Imogene waiting for him, arms still tightly crossed with a pout. Malroth hurried through the gates to keep anyone from changing their mind, making Cygnus smirk in response. 

Then Malroth took a careful breath, looking up at his wrinkled face. "Thank you."

"I suppose you do have some manners, don't you?" Cygnus chuckled, turning to Imogene. "He is in your care for his duration here. Should he do anything rash or break any laws, the consequence will fall on your head as well as his. Am I understood?"

Imogene scoffed, huffing and reaffirming his arms across his chest. "I'm not a servant!"

"No," Cygnus agreed. "But it's not like you can leave or do anything else, for the time being."

Scowling, Imogene rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, stalking off into the clouds. Malroth warily hurried after him, unfortunately skeptical but mindful about not being left alone. Behind them the gate squealed as it closed, leaving Cygnus to sigh in relief at the silence. In short order, he settled back in his chair and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

The two of them walked in silence for what felt like a really long time. Malroth was content not to talk, though he could only hope they were going in the right direction. If everyone knew Ketriel, as Cygnus suggested, then surely this boy would know where that was, right?

His thoughts were interrupted as Imogene abruptly whirled around, hands on his hips as he scowled. "So what the heck brought you here?" he exclaimed. "You… imposter!"

Malroth rolled his eyes before shaking his head, his hands raising in a defiant shrug. "I can't tell you much other than there was a big pillar of light and when I jumped in it I ended up here."

"Ugh, a literalist," Imogene complained, slapping his forehead and bringing his palm down over his face. "No, _why_ are you here? _Duh._ That's obviously what I meant when I asked the other question."

Malroth growled. "If you would've listened at the gate instead of being an idiot, you'd know I'm here to save my girlfriend."

Imogene bristled. "I am _not_ an idiot! You're just identical to my boyfriend and that threw me off but you're a hundred times meaner!"

Crossing his arms, Malroth smirked. "You got a problem with that, little servant boy?"

Imogene's face turned red. "Oh, hell no! You did not just—!"

"Oh, you don't like that do you?" He laughed loudly. "What're you gonna do, little servant boy, huh? You think you can fight with your little twig arms?"

Malroth saw the first punch coming before Imogene even lifted his arm. He easily caught it but then it was a blur of arms and wings that buffeted his head and body, grappling each other until they both fell on the ground in an undignified heap. Fighting back as best as he could see, Malroth growled as he aimed a few punches for Imogene's nose.

"You're such… an asshole!" Imogene shouted, trying to scratch at Malroth's chest and face. "If you think… I'm going to help you…" He growled, his fist glancing off Malroth's cheek. "Then you're wrong!"

"You say that… like you have a choice!" Malroth snarled. "I just want… my girlfriend!" He huffed, deflecting another punch. "And then… I'll leave!"

"As if I… would help _you!"_

"You better!… Or I'll be… your permanent problem!"

Their scuffle continued for several minutes, clambering and clawing and wrestling over each other until Malroth had the opportunity to throw Imogene off with a foot to his stomach. He rolled a few feet and Malroth came up on his elbow at the same time as Imogene, the both of them panting heavily as they stared each other down. Malroth could feel blood trailing over his lip from his nose, but he was assured in the fact that Imogene had a similar bleeding cut over his eye.

"Well you certainly know how to fight dirty," Imogene scowled.

Malroth clenched his jaw. "Good thing too, if the only thing keeping me from finding my girlfriend is a self-righteous asshole guide!"

"Why is she even here, anyway?" Imogene snapped. "Only Celestrians come here! The afterlife is somewhere else!"

Malroth growled out an exasperated sound, rolling his eyes. "For the last time, I'm here to save her! Because Ketriel took her!"

Imogene's eyes went wide, the rest of his body going impossibly still. _"Ketriel_ took her?" he exclaimed. "But that means…!"

Malroth felt guarded suspicion rise in his chest like the hair on the back of his neck, especially at the several emotions that filtered over Imogene's face coupled with a faraway look in his eye. "That means _what,_ servant boy?" Malroth growled.

Imogene's eyes came back into focus, still wide as he looked at Malroth again. "We need to go," he whispered, rising to his feet and beginning to walk away as he dug into a pouch on his hip. 

"Why?" Malroth watched him for a minute before standing up and following behind him, wiping blood from his nose. "What's your problem?"

"I'll tell you on the way," Imogene called, tossing a medicinal herb over his shoulder. "C'mon."

Malroth caught it and felt a chill run down his spine, reluctant to follow but curious at the sudden change in attitude. He groaned in annoyance, praying he wouldn't regret this as he jogged to catch up, eating the herb as he did. "Alright, spit it out. What's got your feathers ruffled?"

Imogene stared directly ahead while grinding his jaw, obviously choosing his words with care. "Do you know who Ketriel is?"

"Why would I have any idea who that rat bastard is?" Malroth scowled, crossing his arms. "I only know that he's an asshole and kidnapped my girlfriend."

Imogene nodded. "That too. But up here his job is to be an attendant to the Goddess."

Malroth's blood ran cold. "But why would he need Crea?" he demanded. "Shouldn't he be _attending_ to Rubiss? Why's he need Crea to come and make something fancy for him?"

"He said that?!" Imogene exclaimed, visibly startling. 

"You better start talking, servant boy, I don't like having to wait and figure out these answers you're giving me," he snarled. 

"Ugh, fine!" Imogene rolled his eyes. "Ketriel's supposed to attend to Rubiss but she's been missing for months, and since she's been gone so long that makes him the de facto ruler. But he doesn't have the authority to create on the same scale, and he can't give that power to himself, so he needs your girl to give _her_ that power instead to make sure there's still a functioning deity around to keep the order of things under control!"

Malroth suddenly understood Imogene's overwhelmed paralysis of emotions, feeling much of the same himself. Anger eventually won out. "And why should I trust that any of what you're telling me is true?"

"Oh for the love of—" Imogene groaned, covering his face with his hands and emitting a restrained scream. "Because I'm Rubiss's kid!"

"A spoiled brat like you?" Malroth scoffed. "Don't make me laugh!"

Imogene stomped his foot. "I'm telling you! They pulled me in to interrogate me because I've never really gotten along with my mom and so everyone suspected that I did something to her so that I could take her place or something. Which is rich, by the way, cos I just wanted to get dicked down by my boyfriend in peace before coming back to all this drama!"

Malroth couldn't stop his bewildered grimace. "Didn't need to know that," he growled. 

"Whatever." Imogene dismissively waved his hand. "They haven't let me go home since. Ugh, my poor boy… He's probably freaking out since he hasn't ever been apart from me that long since we met, and we met right after his memories started to begin with… Ugh! My poor boyfriend!"

Malroth raised an eyebrow. "He's that dependent on you?"

Imogene growled. "You literally came to the place that most people would call heaven… just to get your girlfriend back. I wouldn't talk shit when you're just as bad."

Malroth scoffed. "Well at least I'm not as _slow_ as your boyfriend. Crea's been here all of a few hours and I'm already here to get her back. Where's yours? Crying at home?"

"I… you…!" Imogene clenched his hands. "I'm going to punch you because you deserve this."

Crossing his arms, Malroth sneered. "You still have to tell me about Ketriel, servant boy."

Imogene growled. "If Ketriel decided it's time to just get a new Goddess, then he's going to want your girlfriend to make a _lot more_ than she bargained for… Namely, she's going to make the next Goddess with her own flesh and blood in order to _become_ it."

_In other words, she's going to die._

Malroth heard the subtext loud and clear, staring at him with wide eyes, consciously having to keep from moving. He felt fury in his heart, his legs and body begging to run to Crea's side. But he had no direction, no idea of where Ketriel was at all. "Where is Ketriel?" Malroth growled.

"The observatory." 

Malroth was about to question this when Imogene pointed forward, following his aim through the parting clouds to reveal an endless stretch of clear blue sky that faded upward into a star-lit expanse of navy. In the distance stood an impossibly tall tower, practically looming over them despite not really being close at all. It was square in some places and round in others, the entirety of it cascading with vegetation and topped with the silhouette of a large tree. Even from so far away Malroth could see the multitudes of floors on it, mismatched in shape and width. It was monstrous. He didn't even want to think about how far away the thing _actually_ was. Gasping a little, he felt his heart and his feet stop.

Imogene huffed, stopping next to Malroth. "If we're quick, we can get there by nightfall."

 _"Nightfall?"_ Malroth exclaimed. He judged the distance again before scowling, leaning forward to prepare to run. "I don't have that kind of time."

"Well you're gonna have t— Hey!" Imogene shouted as Malroth took off, starting to run steadily towards the tower, pendant bouncing off his jacket. Imogene watched him for a minute before sighing, his wings gradually beating himself up into the air. "No respect around here, I swear."

* * *

Even at Malroth's breakneck pace, it took a long time to get to the foot of the tower. Malroth had long since stopped looking up at the tower the closer he approached, feeling like he'd fall on his back every time he tried to glimpse the top. It made him slightly nauseous, all things considered. Imogene flew lazily behind him, keeping an eye on him but keeping his distance too. When Malroth finally slowed to pause on the first stair to catch his breath and fight his unease, Imogene landed next to him, looking him over. 

"You should probably sleep," he remarked. "You just ran several miles in a couple of hours."

Looking up the staircase, Malroth shook his head, panting and trying to swallow back his malaise. "I can't… stop," he breathed. "Crea… needs me."

Imogene raised his eyebrow. "Ketriel lives at almost the very top, y'know."

Malroth looked at him for a long minute, his heavy breaths the only noise. "What, you can't… just fly me… all the way up there?"

Imogene scoffed. "Me? Sure. You? No."

"Why not?"

"You're heavy."

Malroth rolled his eyes. "Then I can't… stop."

"You look like you're about three seconds from passing out."

At his words, it was like a hundred little lights had exploded across his vision. The sweat on his body became cold, and his ears started to feel clogged.

"No," he whispered. "I can't… stop now…"

Malroth tried to lift his foot to the next stair. The next thing he knew, the stairs were coming up to meet his face and his world went suddenly black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whups.


	49. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crea succumbs to her mistake and Malroth dreams of home.

Pain surged through Crea's forehead, making her cry out as it woke her up. She wasn't sure how long she had been curled up on the floor, but she did know she was still exhausted. And in pain, as her throbbing skull kept reminding her. Always in pain. Her brain was too murky to fully grasp if she was sick or not, and even if she hadn't been foggy, the piercing pain that still seared across her forehead would've rendered thought incapable anyway. She struggled to try to sit up, but the more she moved the more the pain intensified, and she eventually relented to lying on her side as still as possible. And yet, the ache remained.

"Ketriel," she called softly. "Why doesn't it stop hurting?" She heard his chuckle somewhere up above her once more. 

"Oh, Crea. I'm preparing you."

She grimaced. "For what?" Pain squeezed her mind again, making her moan pitifully. 

"Why does it matter, _for what?_ Soon you won't remember any of this and you'll become exactly as I intend."

"Won't remember?" Her blood ran cold, her mind struggling to form coherent thought. "As you… intend?"

Ketriel laughed. "Yes, as I intend. You will replace my Master Builder that I served all those years."

Crea gasped, both at the pain and the admission. "You said… I would train someone! Or make a replacement. Not _be_ the replacement…"

"Oh, I'm aware of what I said. But you believed me and that can hardly be my fault, don't you think?"

Wisps of anger cut through the pain, but she couldn't hold onto them long. "You lied to me?" she whispered.

"Ha! Of course I lied to you!" he exclaimed, again sounding all too excited about that. "I had to get you here by any means possible, didn't I? Perhaps you should have listened to your _precious_ _boyfriend_ when he suggested it." He chuckled for a few seconds longer. "His instincts are really spot on, you know."

At Malroth's mention, Crea's hand grappled at her midsection, finding nothing to hold. "Malroth…"

"Yes, yes, cry out for him. Feeble mortal boy. His efforts to thwart my plans were valiant, but no match for my brilliance. His pathetic love made it easy to manipulate his interference."

She growled, in no small part because of the persistent pain. "What have you done to him?"

"Me? Nothing. You're the one who told him all those terrible things."

Crea felt her heart seize, not knowing what he meant. Her mind felt so fuzzy, and so empty… "What did you make me say?"

A hot bolt seared across her forehead, making her scream. But with it came a memory, brief images flashing across her mind of removing her pendant from around her neck and hurling it at Malroth's face, accompanied with her own voice: _Go home Malroth. I don't need you anymore._

Crea screamed in distress, clutching both hands at her midsection where the pendant was supposed to be. "Malroth!" she screamed, tears leaking down her face. "Malroth! No! It wasn't me, it wasn't me!"

"It was still your voice masquerading as hatred. Why would he come to your aid now?"

"Malroth!" Crea screamed again, even though white-hot pain felt ready to burst inside her skull. "I still love you! I'm here! I need help! Please, help me!"

Ketriel scoffed. "He can't hear you. He can't even find you. You belong to me now, Crea, not him. And soon, you will become as you ought, fulfilling the role that was left empty."

Crea shivered, her body feeling to burst into flame like it was fighting off a fever. "Why me?" she whispered, feeling the edges of her consciousness trying to fade. 

His voice was very close to her ear now, making her flinch. "Because I need a builder."

"But _why?"_

"Have you truly not figured it out?" She could see his feet enter her vision, casually walking around her. "Only a builder can ascend to this highest calling. The power to make, to build and create, forever and ever! Bend reality to your will as you sculpt it from the vision within your mind of whatever you wish…" Ketriel hummed. "And very soon you will be able to create anything… even entire worlds, should you wish it."

Crea shivered, shaking her head as pain warped her mind. _Worlds?_ "I don't understand," she whispered.

Ketriel scoffed behind her. "Creation is sacred, girl, haven't I told you that a hundred times? Much to the praise of all living. Surely even a foolish mortal such as you would be able to figure _that_ out."

The pain briefly abated to let her mind put all the pieces together. Crea felt her breath stop, not having the energy to look up at his face for confirmation. _Worlds… sacred… praise?_ "You want me… to become a goddess?"

"Oh, you _are_ smart." His sinister laugh confirmed every chill and terror in her body. "Not just any goddess either, child. _The_ Goddess. Ruler of all creation. Such as any good builder would understand about _empowering_ her building."

She groaned, still trying to adjust but the renewed and aggressive pain making it impossible. "And… Rubiss? What happened to her?"

"Disappeared. As I told you at the beginning, before I started to change you."

Crea startled. "Change _what?"_

"You! All of you. To prepare for the changes to your mortal frame to instead accept the immortal mantle required of you."

She blanched, unrestrained fear bubbling up inside her chest. "I don't want to!" Crea screamed, eyes wide and searching her limited vision for an exit. "I want to go home! You said I could go home!"

"This is your home now!" Ketriel snapped. "I will not sit idly by while the universes go without a Creator. This is your destiny now, and no human, monster, or future Goddess can escape it!"

Tears dribbled down Crea's cheeks at the pain as she started to shift her body, attempting to roll onto her stomach to crawl. Her entire body felt like it burned with each shift, and eventually she stopped to try to breathe between sobs.

Ketriel smirked, his frustration subsiding. "Ah, but no matter. Now you'll sleep, my dear, and forget all of this when you truly awaken. You're well underway to becoming the replacement Goddess the world needs. The _ultimate_ master builder. You understand, don't you?" He chuckled, his laughter sending shivers down her spine. "Now sleep, Crea. Sleep and become Creatrix!"

Crea felt the forced tug of sleep at the corners of her eyes, sluggish fear continuing to cascade through her mind as she tried to fight it. "No… I don't want to sleep… I can't! I want to… go home…" She struggled several seconds longer, staring resolutely at the open doorway even as her heavy head sunk back to the floor. "Mal… roth…" Her eyes fell shut and her body went limp, passing out where she lay. 

Ketriel scoffed, turning away from her to observe the empty room for several minutes. Crea's agitated breaths and moans were the only thing that moved within the room until he sneered suddenly. "So the oafish boy thinks he can save her, does he?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "Let him try. And let us see how he deals with this…"

* * *

_Malroth._

At his name, he opened his eyes.

He wished he'd kept them closed.

Somehow, he was back in his bedroom on the Isle. The walls were painted with a golden glow from the sunset through the windows, the air warm and thick and heavy. It felt like summer, and a sweet smell wafted through the room from down below– a fruit tart in the oven, he guessed. Or maybe a strawberry cream pie. Slowly he sat up, looking around dubiously as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was barefoot, and shirtless, only adorned with his orange pants per usual. Perfectly comfortable.

"Malroth."

He turned to the sound, his breath hitching as he saw Crea in the doorway, resplendent and flawless in a dress that he'd never seen before but hugged her body perfectly. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and he was drawn to her smile, soft and sweet but teasing like she was hiding a secret. 

He stared. "Crea…"

"Don't look so scared, darling," she cooed, subtly turning her body to accent her figure. "It's only me."

Malroth felt something grow in his stomach like he was going to be sick. Yet for as much as he tried, he couldn't look away.

"What's wrong, dear?" Crea whispered, her eyebrows turning up in confusion. She sauntered over to him before forcefully sitting in his lap, her chest level with his face but he pointedly looked up. "You look so sad."

He swallowed thickly, unable to resist putting his hands on her hips. Her body was so warm and so bright, rivaling the gold that reflected on every available surface due to the setting sun. She was always much more beautiful than any gold he'd ever seen.

_But this isn't real. This can't be real._

"But of course we're real!" Crea exclaimed, and Malroth wondered if he'd accidentally said his thoughts out loud or if she'd read his mind. "Why wouldn't we be real?"

"Because you were taken." He stared up at her face, feeling his heart ache at the yearning to hold her again and to go back to normal. He swallowed. "I'm on my way to save you. We can't be home yet."

"Oh Malroth," Crea tittered. "Such a joker."

He watched her as she giggled a few seconds longer, not trusting whatever this was. He stayed perfectly still as she smiled, leaning down to linger by his ear.

"Don't you remember?" she whispered, sounding excited. "You didn't get there in time, Malroth. You didn't save me. I died!"

Malroth froze, eyes wide, not moving as she leaned away again. It was now that he noticed the blood around her neck and oozing from her mouth, bruises littering her skin. He couldn't breathe.

_This isn't real. This isn't real. This can't be—_

"Oh, it's very real, dear." Crea still smiled, her voice sounding horribly dangerous, looking far too pleased with herself for how horrid she looked. She ran her hands from her shoulders to his neck, placing her hands firmly around his throat. "Won't you join me, my beloved?"

He was still frozen, hardly having the fortitude to move his hands to her wrists, eyes bulging as she applied pressure. His mouth fell open and he made a choked sound, helplessly staring as she smiled maniacally, spots starting to dance in the corners of his eyes.

"Won't you keep your promise and die for me?"

_"Crea!"_

Malroth bolted upright, gasping heavily as sweat ran down his forehead. He was in a plain, unfamiliar room, the furniture reminding him painfully of things he might find on the Isle. After patting his throat for several seconds to assure himself he wasn't choking, Malroth grimaced, lowering his head and clenching his eyes shut as he dug his fists into the bed. 

_Just a dream._

It took a few minutes for him to remember that he was most assuredly _not_ on the Isle, instead gallivanting around with some Celestrian kid. Or at least, he had been before he passed out. He wasn't sure where he was now. Malroth's stomach grumbled unhappily, making him sigh. He wished he had a bag full of food right about now.

Malroth heard the door swing open, hearing someone come in. Imogene, he hoped. He could only imagine the scrutinizing stare that would greet him if he looked up.

"Are you okay?" Imogene asked.

Malroth nodded, still not opening his eyes or raising his head. "It wasn't real," he croaked. "It was just a… a dream."

Silence greeted him for a long minute, and he could feel frustrated and terrified tears creeping up the back of his throat. _She's not dead,_ he thought, forcing himself to push the dream aside. _I'll save her. I will._

Eventually Malroth rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, taking a deep breath before standing. He purposefully avoided looking at Imogene's face. "We should go."

"You should eat," Imogene remarked.

Malroth scoffed. "Have you got any? Cos I sure as hell don't."

Imogene reached to his side, digging his hands into a familiar-looking bag, though decorated with tassels. A few seconds later he pulled out a stack of pancakes shaped like hearts, still steaming like they were fresh out of the pan. "Here. My boyfriend made these for me before I left, but I think you need them more. You've only got a hundred-something flights of stairs to climb today." He smirked.

Malroth wanted to sneer at the jab, but instead he took the plate without reaction. "Well. Thanks." He sat back on the bed, pendant clinking faintly against the plate, diligently eating as he stared at his knees. He tried not to think about his dream, with mild success. However, something dawned on him a few minutes later when he was mostly finished with his food. "Aren't you gonna eat?" he asked, looking up.

Imogene smirked. "Nah. I already ate, even if I don't have to."

Malroth nodded, letting his eyes wander around the room. "Where are we?"

"Closest bedroom to the stairs. Generally they're kept open in case of emergencies. Like this one." Imogene folded his arms. "You're heavy, by the way. I had to carry you up the stairs into bed by myself."

"Hmm." Malroth looked back to his plate, focusing on the last few bites of his pancakes. "You make it sound like you never carried your boyfriend to bed before. You should try it."

Imogene narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me regret helping you."

Malroth scoffed. "As if you had a choice." He heard Imogene growl slightly.

"Aren't you done yet? You don't have all day y'know. Not if you want to save her in time." 

Malroth tensed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Informing you." Imogene huffed. "The ascension process isn't a particularly long one compared to what Hargon put you through."

Immediately standing, Malroth dropped the empty plate on the bed. "And you didn't want to tell me that sooner?" He growled, heading straight for the door.

"You needed to eat!" Imogene snapped. "If you're going to fight Ketriel at the top, you need your energy. You shouldn't underestimate him."

Malroth looked over his shoulder, casting a firm stare. "No. _He_ shouldn't underestimate _me."_ He turned before Imogene could respond, locket swinging and hitting his arm as he strode out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is where $@!% goes down. 👀 so uh. prepare yourselves.


	50. The Observatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth meets a familiar someone and makes it to the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will fully admit some of this is shameless self-indulgence on the part of our special someone, but hey. we like that here, right?
> 
> buckle up, this chapter gets wild. (also, _really_ bad cliffhanger; feel free to postpone this one until tomorrow!)

It didn't take long to find the stairs, rising along the outer wall. Malroth could hear Imogene running behind him to catch up, but he didn't look back as he followed the shallow steps to the next floor, and the next. They followed the wall in a square spiral from floor to floor, and Malroth resisted his urge to run in order to conserve energy. If a fight was waiting for him at the top, the last thing he wanted to do was run out of stamina before he got there. Still, he jogged as fast as he dared on the flat platforms between floors. Not warping everywhere all the time had at least done some good for his legs.

The pattern continued until he reached one of the circular floors where the stairs abruptly ended and opened up into a large space. Malroth paused as he looked around, taking in the view of thousands of flowers and vines covering the floors and walls, as well as several tall trees that brushed the ceiling. He heard Imogene behind him but didn't bother to turn to look at him.

"Caught off guard by the flowers, huh?" Imogene smirked.

Malroth ignored his question. "What is this place?"

"Oh, I don't know, genius. This tower is called the Observatory, isn't it? So don't you think we'd _observe_ a lot?"

Rolling his eyes, Malroth turned to glare at the smug Celestrian. "Thanks for the heads up, servant boy. Now tell me where the next set of stairs are."

"No appreciation…" Imogene scoffed before pointing directly across the large room. "Other side."

Malroth turned and walked away before he could listen to any more snark, weaving through the paths of flowers and vines. The majority of the plants he'd never seen before, but he still recognized a handful from when Crea brought them back from other islands. Not that he knew the names of them, other than the milkblossoms and the daffodaisies and the coralillies. But there were others that looked just like them in different colors that seemed too cheerful for the circumstance so he tried to stop looking as best he could, focusing instead on the ground and the sound of Imogene walking behind him. 

It was when he neared the center of the room that he finally saw something else that wasn't a flower, though they brought on a different onset of memories. A fat red tomato stood out among the ocean of green leaves, though he noticed a few seconds later that it was surrounded by cabbages and wheat, as well as pumpkins and sugar cane a little further behind. Malroth thought it odd that a little sliver of Furrowfield found itself wedged in a place like this, but he supposed he should be grateful for the reminder. Things weren't always this way, and they could get back somehow.

Malroth took the tomato right from the vine as he passed it, bringing it to his mouth and biting into it like an apple. Juice trickled down his chin, making him think of summer days and lying on fresh grass and watching clouds. But a thunderous voice broke his thoughts, making him startle. 

"How dare you!!"

Malroth froze, eyes wide, tomato still halfway in his mouth. It took a couple seconds before he saw a staff poking up over the nearby ferns, glowing red as it readied a spell.

"Now you did it," Imogene murmured behind him.

"Do you want it back?" Malroth asked, ignoring Imogene, holding the once-bitten tomato out to the fern.

"I was going to use that for my smoothie!" the voice cried back.

Malroth scoffed, bewildered. "Who the hell puts a tomato in a smoothie?!"

"Silence! You dare speak to me that way?"

The staff in the ferns wobbled as it moved, its user coming out into the open. Malroth was surprised to see a monster, a magus with its typical red hood and green cape, though it was missing the Children of Hargon symbol on the front of its white smock like all the rest of its kind. Glancing down at the tomato, Malroth was struck by a strange sense of familiarity. There was something about this monster, and the food, that nudged something in the back of his brain. Something about—

"Pastor Al?" Malroth whispered, looking back up.

The room was suddenly frozen, aside from the magus's staff that still glowed brightly. Seconds stretched so long that Malroth wondered if maybe he ought to get ready to fight, but the magus's staff dimmed as soon as Malroth reached for the handle of his hammer on his back.

"I jest, I jest. Hello, Malroth."

Malroth exhaled heavily, visibly slumping as the relief took over his shoulders and made him smile. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Have so!" Pastor Al jutted out his chest proudly. "I am no longer a heretic."

Malroth snorted. "Ah, right, because you renounced your Children of Hargon-ness and became a builder, right?" He frowned. "Is this where dead builders go? Is this heaven?"

"In a sense." Pastor Al shrugged. "I believe humans have a different afterlife, but I wouldn't know. All I do know is I didn't belong in the monster afterlife, since I was a builder, so they brought me here instead. But enough about that– why are _you_ here?"

Malroth growled as he remembered. "Crea's at the top of the tower. I have to save her."

"The young builder?" Pastor Al hummed. "Why is she here? And why is she separate from you?"

"Ketriel took her," Imogene commented, leaning more around Malroth's body to point it out. "For reasons."

The Pastor considered that for a moment, looking between the two of them slowly. "Not good reasons, I presume." Malroth nodded, and the Pastor turned. "Come; we can speak as we go, since you won't be here much longer."

"I was under the impression I had a billion floors left to go," Malroth said, glaring at Imogene behind him who stuck out his tongue in return. Malroth simply rolled his eyes, tossing the tomato back at its plant in frustration.

"Walking, yes," Pastor Al nodded. "But not when there's a transport system between each flower dome. I can get you within five floors."

Malroth felt his heart start to race, feeling a tingling shoot down his spine. He looked at Imogene with eyes too wide to glare at him like seconds before. "Did you know about this?"

Imogene jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Wings, remember? Why would I use a transport when I can fly?" He smirked suddenly. "Besides, it's more fun to watch you stress out."

Anger boiled up in Malroth's gut, but Pastor Al grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Imogene before they could fight again. Instead, Pastor Al stuffed him inside a small glass cube, barely wide enough to fit Malroth's hammer. Malroth pressed his hands against the glass as the door closed, watching Pastor Al and a smug Imogene behind him.

"So you're going to punish me instead of him for being an asshole?" Malroth growled.

Pastor Al shook his head, fiddling with the controls. "When you arrive, the stairs you want will be on the right. They'll take you right to the top. Don't wait for us."

"What do you mean, don't—?" A blue light started to glow from his skin, cutting off his own sentence in surprise, and he looked up to see Al's expressionless mask slowly fading outside the glass.

"Don't wait."

The few seconds that passed set Malroth on edge, mostly at a strange feeling in his chest and his hair standing on end. But then the flowers and trees in his vision changed, and the glass cube opened up automatically to reveal the supposed other flower dome. 

Stepping out cautiously, he realized his stomach was calm, hardly changing at all at the strange warp magic. 

Malroth was off and running before he could think about much else.

* * *

Ketriel stood on the balcony, peering down to watch Crea still curled into a ball on the floor. Her feverish pants and intermittent groans echoed in the circular room, her hair stuck to the sweat on her forehead. Ketriel hummed, running his thumb along his jaw as he pondered.

"Soon, Creatrix," he murmured. "Fear not. You shall only have to suffer this mortal pain for a little while longer."

A distant door burst open and Ketriel snapped his head up to the open hallway, watching Malroth sprint into the room, hammer drawn, fire alright in his red eyes, pendant bouncing off his jacket. Ketriel stared coolly as he adjusted his posture, straightening his spine and smoothing his lapels. He was pure elegance, and this foolhardy mortal was barbaric. He couldn't raise a Goddess without standards.

Ketriel leaned against the handrail overlooking the lower half of the room. "So you made it," he said impassively, his mouth curled back in disgust.

"Give me Crea and I won't have to kick your face in," Malroth snarled, pointing his hammer up at Ketriel's chest.

Ketriel smiled widely, making Malroth's skin crawl. "But of course," he said sweetly, gesturing to the middle of the amphitheater. "If you can wake her, she's yours."

Crea groaned imperceptibly as Malroth saw her, her face contorted in pain and agony with her hair sticking haphazardly to her sweat-drenched face. Her arms were crossed tightly across her stomach, her knees brought up close as well, and she whined frequently, the pain evident in her squeezed eyes.

"Crea!" he yelled, sprinting towards her. He knew in the back of his mind it ought to be a trap, but he couldn't help it. He'd been too worried about her dying and he was desperate to make sure she'd be okay. Nearing her, he fell to his knees. "Crea?" he asked again, softly, pressing a hand on her arm.

At his touch, her eyes snapped open, glowing a bright and furious white. Malroth yelled in alarm, falling back on his butt and shielding his eyes. Wordlessly her body began to float up, still curled in on itself, wisps of golden threads beginning to emerge from her skin and weave together around her. Malroth scrambled backwards on his hands, watching with wide eyes as the threads began to form into a massive shape.

They weaved in straight lines, creating what looked like a wire frame around her, forming itself into a massive version of herself in a full-length dress, standing in the center of the room. Her wispy effigy's eyes glowed bright white like her own, glowing even brighter as even more threads shot out from her skin. The thinner golden wires began to weave themselves between each individual section on both the tip of her head and the bottom of her dress, filling in the space between each part of the main frame.

"What are you doing to her?" Malroth demanded, standing up and angrily scowling at Ketriel.

"Oh, I'm not doing anything," he smiled, clearly pleased. "She's doing all of this herself. But it looks like you have a little time left before she fully transcends…" He eyed the threads swirling gracefully around her dress, grinning horribly. "Should you like to say goodbye."

"Crea!" Malroth yelled, dashing forward with his hammer still in hand. He tried to swing at the weaving threads, but his hammer passed through them harmlessly, making him stumble and sprawl on his back. He looked up at the real Crea, her eyes still glowing white and body still motionless. As though not even realizing he was there. He grit his teeth.

"Crea!" he yelled again. "Don't give up!" He stood again, launching himself in the air and reaching with his hand to grab her, hoping to hang on somehow. Her eyes got brighter as he neared and he suddenly felt himself flung, exiting from beneath the threads through a remaining hole and bouncing across the marble floor. Malroth rolled to a stop and he grimaced, looking up at her form. The threads were working quickly, already to her knees and her shoulders. Before he could yell to her again, a large translucent hand reached out to him, aiming to crush him on the floor. He rolled out from underneath, narrowly missing the tips of the fingers and scrambling to his feet. "Crea!" he yelled again, desperate to reach her. He dodged a hand strike once more, leaping out of the way. "Stop! It's me, Malroth!"

"You certainly act like a threat," Ketriel goaded from the balcony. "To an ascending Goddess? Why, it's no wonder she's fighting you back."

Malroth dodged another strike, feeling panic well up in his heart. "Crea! Don't give up, try to remember! Remember me, remember the Isle, remember who you are!" He shook his head, frustration pricking at his eyes. "Whatever you're seeing isn't true, you have to fight! You've never given up before. Don't start now!"

He dodged yet another strike. The threads were filling in at her waist and at her bust now, leaving a small window where he could still see her motionless form, eyes glowing eerily. Distressed, Malroth ran forward again, jumping to leap into the hole– he had to get to her. He had to get her _out._

But the hand caught him midair, translucent fingers curling around his torso and legs. He yelled in alarm, trying to push himself out with his hands, but the grip was too firm. Pounding his fists against the fingers in frustration, he looked up. "Crea!" he shouted again, throat raw and voice breaking. "Listen to me! You have to still be in there. I love you! I'm here to take you home!"

Crea's eyes darkened considerably and the threads slowed to a crawl. Malroth felt his heart soar with hope.

"I'm still here for you," he called. "And I'll _always_ be here for you. And I'm not going home without you!"

Time felt like it stopped. Her eyes barely glowed a dull white, and the threads continued to move almost like in slow motion. Malroth could hardly feel his heart soundly in his chest, waiting for some sign. He could even almost hear her voice project into his mind, calling out to him…

_Mal… roth…?_

"Is this what the mortals call love?" Ketriel asked. "How pathetic. A Goddess shouldn't have to rely on anyone but Herself."

At his words the threads began to move normally again, making Malroth panic. "No no no!" he shrieked, stretching out his hand towards her despite still being stuck in the massive fist. _"Crea!"_

Helplessly he could only watch, seeing the window close smaller and smaller until the last threads covered up the rest of her glowing white eyes.

Without warning he was flung again, thrown to the outer pillars of the room as the hand disappeared in a brilliant wave of light. Rolling to a stop once more as his hammer clattered to the ground nearby, Malroth then staggered to his feet, squinting against the brightness.

"Yes!" Ketriel yelled from somewhere across the room, laughing gleefully. "The Goddess returns! Creatrix lives!"

Malroth felt his heart stop and his stomach sink, curling an arm across his belly as nausea rippled through him and the corner of the locket dug into his arm. He turned away from the light to stare at the floor, leaning against the pillar with his hand, trying to catch his breath.

"Well," he mumbled. "I guess… I kept my promise. I said… I wouldn't let anything… hurt you."

He swallowed harshly, trying to bite back the burning in his throat that threatened tears. 

"Not even me."


	51. The Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Creatrix is born.

Everything was white.

She breathed deeply as her eyes opened, steadily taking in the room around her as her mind awoke. She was… new. Freshly made. She was… She was the Goddess. Yes. That was right. Brand new, to replace the old that had been lost.

"Creatrix?"

A confident voice to her side made her want to curl her nose in disgust for some reason, but she kept her face still and turned to look. The man was slender and refined, holding himself with perfect posture and his hands behind his back. His hair framed his thin face, and his smile was impeccable. 

She had the strangest feeling he knew him from somewhere. Somewhere… before.

_ As if that makes any sense, _ she thought.

"And who are you?" she asked, her body automatically adjusting to his height from her towering position and drifting down towards him.

His eyes brightened, especially as she got closer. "I am Ketriel. Your attendant."

She hummed.  _ Too perfect, _ she decided.

"But, fair Goddess Creatrix," Ketriel said, bowing slightly, "I'm sorry to whisk you away so quickly after awakening, but we have been without a Goddess for some time. As such, we have urgent business to attend to."

"We?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah… Well, you. Yes. I've been sent to find you, you see."

There was a sudden, subtle feeling of something else in the room with them. Something that pricked at her mind and made her look for it, turning away from Ketriel without answering him. She found it in a man near the back of the room, facing away from her with a massive dark ponytail cascading down his back. She tilted her head silently. This mysterious human… He already intrigued her. But Ketriel coughed at her side, trying to reclaim her attention.

Her eyes did not leave the strange man at the back of the room. "Well, you now have found me," she said, indifferent to her supposed attendant. "Be on your way."

He sputtered for a few seconds, eyes wide. "But I'm meant to fetch you! There are issues with Yggdrasil and others that demand your attention right away!"

"Who is above me, that I must obey them?" she questioned, eyes of white fire swiveling to stare him down. "I am the Goddess, am I not? They  _ will  _ wait."

Ketriel glowered, but made no other comment. She turned back to the mortal man, floating directly over the bannister towards him.

"Mortal," she said calmly as she neared, observing the back of his body. "For what reason do you come to the realm of the Celestrian?"

She watched him flinch, ducking his head into heightened shoulders. He clearly hesitated, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest. "...Nothing, anymore," he answered softly.

She frowned.  _ Strange. _ "Permit me to view your face, that I may know of what you seek."

"I…" He struggled to find his words, his fingers clearly fidgeting against his elbows. "...I can't."

"Why?"

"I'm… unworthy."

An urgent feeling pressed against her mind– not painful, but demanding; overwhelmingly shouting  _ that is wrong. _ Intrigue overwhelmed her again, making her tilt her head. There was  _ something _ about him she couldn't quite place. Something… important, perhaps. She hummed.

"Goddess Creatrix, please," Ketriel pleaded behind her from the balcony. "There is much work to be done!"

"And it will get done when I am ready for it," she countered coolly. He was starting to grate at her. "Mortal. Please allow me to inquire. It is rare to have one of your kind here, and impossible for it to have been an accident. Please: for why are you here?"

The man hesitated for several long moments, obviously uncomfortable from what she could see of his back and hair. He finally shrugged.

"I was… looking for someone," he admitted quietly. "She, um… I lost her."

Creatrix smiled, compassion blooming in her chest. "There are many ways to find what was lost. Are you certain she lives?"

His posture stiffened. "I don't know."

"I see. And are you certain she wants to be found?"

Stiffer still. "I think so."

"And she… left you?"

"...Not willingly."

"Your Grace, Lady Goddess Creatrix!" Ketriel demanded, starting to sound desperate to move her along. "I really must insist we go now! This mortal is of no consequence, and his female friend is surely gone. Let us depart! Leave him to deal with his own mortal affairs!"

Something he said, or how he said it, inspired fury in her soul. She turned, instinctively pointing her finger at his slender face, and all of her rage channeling into a giant bolt of lightning. A flash of dark light and he was suddenly suspended in midair, mouth agape as she froze him in time. He was a gnat, and she was a Goddess. Who was he to order her?

She turned back to the man, noticing he was trembling. "Apologies," she said. "I can assure you he is fine, and I can likewise promise I will not harm you. You are not of this realm and will be protected here."

The man sighed, his voice sounding dejected and broken. "I… Thank you, but I don't think there's anything you can do for me now. I'm… I'm too late. She's gone forever and I just have to accept it and move on."

The urgent feeling returned again, pressing against her mind with significant weight. She frowned. "Mortal, please turn and face me. I am certain there is something we can do."

He shrunk, tilting his head down further. She was certain that his eyes were closed now. "Please don't make me do that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And why so?"

He flinched. She could sense tears collecting under his eyes, even if she couldn't see them or his face. He inhaled carefully, voice quiet as before. "...You look like her."

Further pressure of the urgent feeling. Something about this man was clearly important, and there was something very  _ wrong _ about what he was saying. She didn't understand.

She circled around to his front, hovering in the air above him. He kept his head down, eyes shut, tufts of hair sticking up from his hairline. There were two necklaces that decorated his exposed chest, one holding five bones of various sizes and the other a long golden chain, the end of which hid behind his crossed arms. He was pleasant to look at, all things considered, even if she still couldn't see his face.

"Please look at me," she asked again, slowly floating down to be closer to his height. "I believe if I can see her in the reflection of your soul, there may yet be hope that we can find her."

He shook his head, tears starting to fall from his clenched eyes onto his arms still tightly folded across his chest. "I can't," he whispered again.

"Why?" she asked, slight pangs of frustration rising within her.

"If I look at you, I will lose it," he murmured, trying to stem his tears. He jammed the heel of one of his palms against his eye, trying in vain to get the tears to stop. "Maybe she's dead, I don't know. I just… I need to mourn. Alone."

She sighed. "Can you tell me about her?"

Tears started to stream more readily now, small hiccups interrupting his breathing. "She… she was m-m-my… best f-friend…" His other hand joined the first, furiously wiping at his eyes as he truly began to cry.

_ Wrongness _ ached in her mind. She watched him for several moments, confused. Why was she drawn to this? Why did his plight dig at her so deeply? Why… Why did he not want her help? She was the Goddess Creatrix, was she not? Surely she should have an answer for this.

She floated down the rest of the way to set her feet on the floor, trying to get a glimpse of his face and longing to comfort the brokenness if just a little. "Sweet child," she whispered, eye-to-eye with the top of his head.

She could  _ feel _ his turmoil from her proximity, knowing he recognized how close she was to him. From the closeness, she could feel his desire to look, but also the dread that encircled the same inclination. For several moments he warred with himself, back and forth, holding himself back until he finally could restrain himself no longer and raised his head.

His eyes were the most striking red, glossy from tears and vibrant against his tan skin. Tear stains carved under his eyes like rivers, cheeks tinted pink. And in his eyes she could see the complete devotion and adoration for his friend, despite the fear and the agony that accompanied them.

And the pain. Oh, what  _ pain. _

His eyes widened almost instantly at seeing her, and then they crinkled again, fresh emotion overwhelming him. His mouth contorted, falling open in an ugly shape as a sob threatened to rip from his throat.

And it did. Loudly.

"Oh,  _ Crea!" _ He cried in shameless despair, hiding his face back behind his hands as sobs filled the room.

Creatrix blinked, the most complete sense of urgency overcoming her since she awoke. It was like a neon sign had been placed two feet from her vision, and she'd been staring at it all this time without realizing.

Until now.

"Child," she asked softly. "This… Crea. Is she…  _ was _ she… me?"

The man simply nodded among all his sobs, his voice stuck behind the tight burning in his throat. Her own heart fluttered in her chest at the revelation.

"I do not understand," she said. "Why did I ascend if you did not wish it? Did… Did I not ask for it? How…? How did I become here?"

"Taken," the man managed, his head still bowed and hidden behind his hands as he cried. "You didn't have a choice. They… they said you were… ch-chosen."

Creatrix felt a heaviness in her chest. Not because she believed him—as if she could actually believe that the sacred order had been compromised, because how could  _ that _ be—but because he was so  _ distraught… _ and she felt nothing.

"Who took me?" she asked. "Who is  _ they _ who said I was chosen?"

The man shook his head, only turning and pointing to Ketriel on the other side of the room.

"Impossible," she whispered, eyes going wide.

A sudden light erupted from the center of the room, interrupting her thoughts. The man at her side startled into silence, keeping his head down. She watched the pillar carefully, seeing another slender figure rise and emerge from the blinding light. She felt her heart quicken at the sight, seeing Rubiss step out onto the cool marble floor.

Rubiss made immediate eye contact, smiling knowingly as Creatrix stared, tilting her head back and forth at the sight. Rubiss turned to see Ketriel suspended in the air before humming with satisfaction, giggling. "I apologize for my delay," Rubiss said, turning back to them with her eyes sparkling with understanding. She stretched out her hands in invitation, smiling warmly. "Creatrix and Malroth… Welcome. I see we have much to talk about."


	52. The Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rubiss returns.

Creatrix stared for several long seconds, her thoughts only interrupted by the hushed sniffles at her side. She felt her mind pulling for information that wasn't there. At least, not anymore. "I know you," she mumbled. 

Rubiss simply smiled. "I am your predecessor, yes."

"No," she insisted. "Not that. Something… else."

It was silent for a few more seconds as Rubiss waited, but Creatrix eventually shook her head in defeat. 

"I suppose you'll want an explanation," Rubiss began, "of how this situation came to be."

Creatrix nodded warily. Malroth still stared down at the floor, hardly moving. 

"As you know, the Goddess is gifted with the noble task of creation," Rubiss explained. "As such, it is important for there to be one– for there to  _ always _ be one. Naturally, things happen and change, so it was pertinent for the power to create a Goddess to be bestowed in capable hands."

"Such as Ketriel," Creatrix said.

Rubiss nodded. "Or the case of any attendant, yes. In the case of a destroyed or tampered Goddess, there would always be means of raising another. This is the means of the sacred order."

"But you were not destroyed," Creatrix noted. "Ketriel said you were lost. Disappeared."

"Indeed, Creatrix." Rubiss smiled sweetly. "For I disappeared on purpose, in secret."

She heard Malroth gasp quietly at her side before swiftly covering his mouth, but she merely tilted her head. "And why would that be?"

"I had been feeling a strangeness lately. A certain… smugness, perhaps. There is danger in thinking your job is better than any other, or that you are worth more because of the responsibilities you carry compared to someone else. This is plain to understand in concept, but not always practice. So when I felt it in my circle, I sought to root it out, seeking evidence that I might end it." Rubiss smiled sadly. "To this end, you are here."

"So you used us?" Malroth whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

"Ketriel could've chosen any builder from any universe," Rubiss insisted. "It is unclear why he chose yours, but in order to confirm my suspicions it was necessary to progress this far. You became collateral, and I am sorry. But we are here now, and I will do my best to repair the damage that has been done."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Creatrix asked.

"As always, it begins with a choice." Rubiss smiled, facing her fully. 

Creatrix tilted her head, a slight pressure pressing against her mind.

"What do you desire?" Rubiss asked. "You could remain here as you are; become an assistant and retain your powers, perhaps. Else you could give it up and return to your mortal life."

Creatrix glanced over at Malroth, whose clear discomfort had grown.

"Granted," Rubiss added quietly, "I am aware you don't remember that life as you are now. But you made it a happy one, so you need not fear it."

Creatrix stared blankly ahead. Malroth kept his head down, feeling worse and worse about standing in the presence of not one but  _ two _ purposed deities. He just wanted to go home, relish in the silence and loneliness that would surely follow. It'd been a long time. Maybe he could even find purpose again after this. Maybe.

"You wear indecision," Rubiss noted.

"I find it hard to trust in something I have no knowledge of," she admitted. "However, I have no interest in playing second fiddle to you, if you don't mind my saying so."

Rubiss smiled. "I would expect no less. Even as a Builder you felt the same, taking control of your life and crafting it to your whims. The freedom was a draw for you there. At least that held through the transformation."

"Mortal," Creatrix said, turning away from Rubiss. "I mean… Malroth. Tell me about this life. My life. This… builder, that I once was."

His blood ran cold, flinching as an empty void grew larger in his chest. How in the world could he do  _ that? _ Her life had been wonderfully complicated, full of so many things even without him. How was he supposed to condense that?

"I… thought you liked it," he croaked weakly.

"Thought?" she echoed pointedly.

He hesitated, his eyes still trained on the floor in front of him. "Ketriel made things complicated," he said. "He changed you. I'm… not sure what you wanted at the end."  _ Or if you still wanted me, _ he thought.

"And before the voice?" Rubiss prompted.

"You loved it," he said. "I know it. The Isle, your friends, your projects." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And me," he added as quietly as he could manage.

It was heard. "You?" Creatrix said. "Why did I love you?"

The impassivity felt like a knife wound, slipping through his ribcage to stab at his lungs. He grimaced. Moonbrooke had thrown everything to disarray. Again. He didn't know what he could trust anymore. "You… liked my companionship."

"And only that?" she asked.

She was just trying to clarify, he knew that. But it still felt like the cementing of nails into his flesh. His vision blurred, pricking at his eyes. "You loved me," he choked out, voice cracking. "We built so many memories and experiences together that you said it just felt natural. Like we belonged. Like we fit." Tears slid down his cheeks, his throat tightening. Malroth knew he was rambling now but he didn't care. He didn't know if he'd ever have a chance to say it again. "It hasn't been easy, but you always told me you never regretted it. That you wanted to be there. That you wanted  _ me _ there. We looked out for each other. You rescued me in Malhalla, and I thought I could rescue you from this place. But…" He grit his teeth, clenching his jaw. "It turns out heaven was worse than hell…"

"Rubiss," Creatrix demanded, turning away. "I object to this… guilt trip."

Malroth hiccupped quietly, trying to contain himself. He just felt like dying. Crea was gone. Why was he still here? He needed to leave. Maybe he could go back to Aletia with Damara. Live in Sessan with Ferrum where he had no memories of Crea…

"You asked him for that," Rubiss defended. "Still, if you need time to weigh options and decide, I don't think you'll find any answers from him."

Creatrix frowned. "Then where do you expect me to find them?"

"I believe you already know your answer," Rubiss said quietly. "You just have to search inside yourself for why."

Creatrix nodded once, a frown still fixed to her face as she turned, drifting away to wander and think. 

Rubiss moved her attention to her side. "Malroth Darkhammer," she said gently. 

"Just kill me," he said, looking up with tear-stricken eyes. "She's gone. I can't… I just… Even if she came back, how could we go back to how it was before?"

Rubiss smiled sadly. "Child," she said softly. "We must first wait to see what she chooses. In any case, I am a being of creation, not destruction. Either way she chooses I won't be able to help you."

Malroth sighed, looking back down to the floor, feeling defeated.  _ Why would she choose me now? She doesn't even remember me. _ Rubbing at his arm, he didn't think he'd ever felt more lost before. 

Once Creatrix had gotten to the other side of the room, floating behind a pillar so she could think without distractions, she took a deep breath. She remembered nothing, and she'd been an accident. Well, not  _ exactly, _ but she was superfluous. That alone made her wonder if her choice was really so simple, but uncertainty gnawed at her mind. Creatrix sighed. She wished she could see the future.

In the silence and the stillness of simply being, it took a few minutes before anything happened. Images drifted lazily over her mind's eye, things and people she didn't recognize. But then there was something that she  _ did _ recognize– Rubiss's smiling face, as she looked directly at her with a strange kind of look in her eye. Like she was looking for something. But then she spoke, her voice soft.

_ It appears all is well here. _

Another voice, behind the view of the memory, responded.  _ What did you just do? _

Rubiss of the memory smiled again.  _ Just checking the state of your character… Provided you maintain your path, your strong heart will not wander far. _

Creatrix frowned. Whatever that was, be it a memory or vision, it at least reminded her of her own power. She too could view things in other people. Granted, nothing was set in stone… But it wouldn't hurt to check. Perhaps a glimpse of Malroth's destiny would provide her with at least a little direction.

Peeking out from behind the pillar, Creatrix observed the mortal boy for a moment, taking in his appearance and posture. Even with his back to her, she could tell he was overpowered with grief, leaning against the pillar to aid himself in standing. It took a few moments, but eventually a vision unfolded before her eyes, a series of events that were too clipped to make sense to her. But one eventually emerged above the rest, portraying Malroth in the center of a well-manicured garden, looking practically the same as he did now in his orange and purple garb. He was hugging a girl with long blonde hair in a short white sundress and yellow scarf around her neck, spinning her around as they both smiled and laughed together. A stark contrast to the grief he found himself in now.

The vision closed and Creatrix blinked a couple times, coming to grips with the sight in front of her.  _ Was that me? _ she wondered.  _ It certainly looked like me. _ She wasn't sure how she knew that. Her bewilderment was deepened at the influx of emotions that took over her chest, ranging from longing and euphoria to fear and despair. Destiny was never set in stone, as she well knew– how could she know it was her? Or for that matter, that he would act that way? So far she'd only seen him as this pitiful and slightly desperate creature. Could she possibly figure that out before deciding where to go?

Watching Malroth's stagnant motions, an idea formed in her mind. She was a Goddess, imbued with creation and creativity. She could only hope her creativity for building extended to problem solving.

Creatrix took a deep breath as she floated out from behind the pillar, silently approaching once more. Rubiss saw her and smiled broadly, signalling Malroth to hesitantly turn around, not quite looking up far enough to reach her eyes. Creatrix looked at his face for a few seconds before looking back up to Rubiss with a nod. "I've decided," she said. Malroth visibly stiffened.

"So quickly," Rubiss said, looking at her with curiosity. "Very well. And what have you chosen?"

It immediately felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Malroth's tension was particularly palpable, and Creatrix did her best to ignore it as she took in a breath.

"I choose to stay here."


	53. The Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Creatrix tests Malroth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (just in case anyone gets confused, there's some big references to the previous fic [aka Good For Me] in this chapter. so if you're like, tf is this talking about? it came from that.)

Malroth felt like shattering glass.

He had held onto a distant hope, he realized, but it was hope all the same. Hope that he knew would kill him, but he couldn't help but hang onto it.

"You can't," he whispered, his eyes raising the last few inches to see her face. "You… You can't leave me."

"It is my choice," Creatrix replied coolly. "And I wish to stay."

Still staring up at her, Malroth shook his head slowly in disbelief. "No… You…"

"Unless you wish to unleash the anger of a Goddess?" she inquired, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow.

Malroth felt himself break, falling to his knees, the pendant heavy around his neck. "Then let me stay too," he whispered. "Let me be your attendant. Let me… serve you." He swallowed harshly, trying to stem the emotions that would surely leak out of every part of his face if he wasn't careful. "Please, just let me stay close to you, I'll do whatever you ask of me, I swear it. Just let me stay with you, please."

Creatrix observed him for a moment before tutting softly. "It's a shame, really."

Malroth stared, not understanding. 

She shook her head. "All that talk of devotion and insistence that we belonged together and you let me go so easily? I admit I initially said what I did to test you and see how you'd react, but completely rolling over to my whims was not one I expected of you." She raised her eyebrow. "Perhaps the life I came from was not one worth defending."

All of the raw emotion almost exploded inside him, causing resentful tears to streak down his cheeks. "You threatened me if I didn't comply!" he shouted, balling his hands into fists at his side. "How did you expect that to go? Did you  _ want _ me to fight? Because I'll do it. I swear I will. I fought a god once before and beat him, I bet you won't be much different."

"And now you threaten me with violence," Creatrix snorted. "Clearly my decision was the right one, despite making it for the purpose of a test."

"Then if there's no right answers you'll have to kill me," Malroth snarled. "Teach me the Goddess's wrath, make me suffer for doing it wrong, go on! Prove it! Kill me before I can kill you!"

Creatrix rolled her eyes. "I already promised you, mortal, that no harm would befall you here."

"Well you already broke all your other promises," Malroth spat. "You promised to trust me, and you didn't. You promised to always tell me what damn Ketriel said to you! And you didn't! You broke everything else and I only promised I would never let anyone hurt you, so you're going to have to kill me so I can keep  _ my _ promise, if nothing else." He breathed heavily, staring up in defiance from his place on the floor.

Creatrix stared him down for several long seconds that felt like they stretched into long minutes. Malroth wondered how long it would take for her to determine if she had that power at all.

"Very well," she said coldly. "You have  _ one _ chance to convince me otherwise. I ask that you choose one memory to convince me to follow your violent self. A single memory that encapsulates your feelings, and mine. Of the relationship and life we apparently shared." Her cold expression remained as she alighted on the floor in front of him, peering down at where he knelt before her. "Choose well."

Malroth stared at her for several seconds, his rage dissipating into dread.  _ One _ memory? That was like having to describe their relationship in one word. Or one facial expression.  _ Impossible, _ he thought. And yet his mind desperately cycled through many memories, trying to come up with a suitable offering. His first club? Maybe his upgraded hammer, or the tea party, or making the herb? Perhaps any of the lazy afternoons together, smiling and laughing in the soft sunlight of the Isle, or maybe the gentle reparations they made on Aletia after they'd rooted out his curse?

But eventually all the thousands of thoughts and memories and questions fell away, leaving one with a weight on his chest. He knew which one to show her.

Focusing again, he locked eyes with hers, heart pounding in his chest as he straightened his spine. "I'm ready," Malroth whispered. Nodding silently, Creatrix stepped forward, placing her palm on his forehead.

A haze settled around them as they were pulled into the vision behind his mind's eye. It was blurry and dark with faded voices in the background as the image tried to come into focus. Then, suddenly, a voice.

_ Oh Goddess above, Malroth! You're bleeding! _

The memory came sharply into focus at Crea's voice, showing her curled over Malroth's bloodied body as she yanked her yellow scarf over her head, pressing it tightly against the gaping wound. He just grimaced.

_ Crea... I think it's too late. _

With wide eyes, her panic was overt. And yet, her voice demanded the impossible.  _ Don't talk like that. You'll be fine, don't you always tell me that? You stay with me, Malroth. _

His hand pressed to the back of hers, and she looked bewildered until she flipped it over, revealing the pendant in her palm. Crea stared at it for a long time until she looked back up to his face.

_ Put it on? _

_ But— _

_ Please. _

Obviously reluctant, she did. Malroth smiled with weak pride as he took the pendant between his shaking fingers to see it. He looked exhausted, and terrifyingly pale.

_ Remember that I love you... _

_ No no no no! _ Crea screamed in agony, pulling him closer to her body as tears leaked down her face.  _ Stay with me! Don't you dare! _

_ Crea. _ The air was rattling in his throat, and a peaceful look crossed his face, obviously ready for and accepting death.  _ Thank you for believing in me. _

_ Malroth! Don't do this! Please! _ Crea screamed, tears leaking down her cheeks.  _ Malroth! _

But he slipped away, his body going limp as his consciousness left his mangled, struggling body to wheeze for air with whatever time he had left. Crea's mouth opened in a primal scream, hunching herself over his body as the vision went dark.

As Creatrix pulled her hand away from his forehead, Malroth opened his eyes. He looked up at her with a misty expression, and she simply cocked her head in return. She opened her mouth to speak but whatever she was going to say immediately died on her tongue, instead closing it and reaching forward to magically lift the pendant that now hung at his chest. She tentatively held it when it arrived in her fingers, staring at it silently.

"I made it for you," Malroth whispered, hardly daring to hope that she would listen. "I made it so you and I would both remember my love.  _ Our  _ love. It was your favorite thing before… this."

She nodded slowly. "And why do you have it now?"

He swallowed heavily. "Ketriel made you give it back."

Creatrix nodded again but didn't say anything for a long time, still observing the pendant in meticulous detail. "And yet you lived," she eventually mumbled. "Even after all of that. And I stayed. As did you."

Malroth stayed silent, not knowing how to respond.

Several minutes later, she gently set it back against his chest before withdrawing her hand and looking back to Rubiss. "Can you turn me back?"

Malroth froze, hardly breathing through his disbelief. He followed Creatrix's eyes to Rubiss, who smiled.

"Of course. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want? I cannot grant you the luxury to change your mind another time."

Creatrix nodded decisively. Rubiss moved closer, likewise landing on the floor in front of her.

"May I ask why you changed your mind?" she asked gently.

Creatrix shrugged. "He apparently keeps trying to die for me," she said softly. "I want to see how he'll live for me, too."

"You won't remember this," Rubiss warned. "Your mind has much greater capacity in this form than your mortal one."

"I know." Creatrix nodded. "But I won't see it either way if I stay here."

Rubiss nodded with a soft smile and Malroth felt his heart nearly stop beating. His chest was tight as Rubiss extended her hand with her palm facing out. Immediately there was a soft glow that surrounded Creatrix as she rose a few feet into the air, and she closed her eyes for a second before looking down at him again.

"Malroth," she called. 

He looked up at her face, seeing the dopey grin he fell in love with all those years ago. 

"Please…" She smiled sadly, the glow encompassing her entire figure. "I'm sorry. Try to forgive me."

The glow became unbearable to watch directly, and Malroth put his hand up to shield his eyes. He recognized the golden threads that seemed to unravel from around her body, watching them retreat and disappear into thin air. It was when Rubiss lowered her hand that the light finally began to recede, and Malroth could tolerate it enough to watch Crea emerge, floating in the air like gravity had no hold on her. Eventually she started to sink and Malroth moved before he could stop himself, standing below her and guiding her to the floor. He knelt on one knee and let her lean against his chest and other leg, hesitantly brushing hair from her face. 

A few seconds later and her eyes fluttered open, slowly coming to focus on his face. "Mal…roth…?"

His heart felt like it burst, causing him to smile with tears in his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, his throat tight and making his voice crack. "It's me. I'm here. You're safe now."

Crea sighed, shutting her eyes and leaning against his chest. "Malroth," she mumbled. "You found me…"

"Of course I did," he murmured. "I…" He swallowed, the rest of his sentence lost in the emotion creeping up his throat. 

She smiled softly. "You always do…"

Feeling pure relief that she was in his arms, he couldn't help but sob, pressing his face against her hair as he hugged her close.  _ She's here. She's back. She's safe. _

But his relief was short lived at a shrill voice that cut through the air, making both of them flinch. 

"Goddess  _ Rubiss?" _

Malroth looked up, his heart already pounding. 

Ketriel stood unfrozen on the balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~dun dun DUNNNN!~~


	54. The Attendant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ketriel is threatened.

Crea whimpered quietly and Malroth held her tighter in his arms, protectively cradling her head against his shoulder. Whatever stasis spell Creatrix had put on Ketriel had evaporated– likely fading away once she gave up her mantle and returned to being Crea, Malroth guessed. Ketriel's eyes darted between Rubiss and the two humans, his pale face turning an angry shade of pink.

"I assure you I can explain!" he cried, gripping the bannister. "You were gone for months! I was certain you had died, and it had come to me to restore the sacred order. I couldn't just leave the position unfilled!"

"Indeed," Rubiss said curtly. "But I understand the sacred order and its mandates, Ketriel. You need not explain yourself to me."

"Surely then you understand the stress I was under!" Ketriel said, moving along the railing to descend the stairs. "Where could you have gone without informing me? The whole tower was in disarray, and I had no answers for them. What happened? Where did you go? And  _ why?" _ He stopped a few feet away, his entire gaze imploring her.

Malroth maintained his guarded frown, watching Ketriel's bewilderment.  _ Could he not hear her explanation before? Maybe Creatrix's spell made it so he couldn't hear anything either. _ If he wasn't so on guard about the whole situation, he might've laughed. But Crea trembled in his arms and he held her tighter to his chest as he simply watched.

"Do you really believe I answer to you like that, Ketriel?" Rubiss said coolly. "I should think what a Goddess does is her own business."

Ketriel withered, realizing his tone. "Yes, of course—"

"As well as where and for how long, don't you agree?"

"Yes, of course—!"

"However," Rubiss added with a dangerous smile, "I believe it would interest you to know that I was testing you."

Silence fell as Ketriel's eyes went wide, searching her expression for answers. But then he scowled, anger coloring his face.  _ "Me?" _ he shouted. "For  _ what?" _

"For your intentions," she said sweetly. "Which you spectacularly failed, might I add. Certainly you remember the man who assisted you all those times, do you not? Little wonder you could not find me when I stood before you for so long."

Ketriel turned his enraged glare at Malroth, who responded by hugging Crea tighter with a defensive scowl. Crea herself made a sad sound, curling more against Malroth's chest.

"You have no idea what a  _ pain  _ they were!" Ketriel shouted. "Not listening, not accepting their fate, their higher purpose. It would've been so much easier if they'd simply done as they were told!"

"That was your own fault," Malroth sneered. "Thinking we would just  _ go along _ with your plan."

Ketriel's glower darkened. "You resisted not only my plan, oafish boy, you resisted  _ everything. _ For as annoying as your instincts were to know my plan in advance, you were really so blind to never notice my presence."

"Presence?" Crea croaked. "You mean your voice?"

"You think it was only my voice!" Ketriel crowed, laughing. "Spare me! Did you really never notice all the headaches? Those were  _ always _ me, infiltrating your senses when I deemed necessary. As well as the visions, and the impulses, even taking complete control on several occasions to say what was needed– all me! Crafting my narrative and altering your mind, dividing you away from your life, all so I could get you here and help you become the next Goddess!"

"I didn't want your help," Crea whispered. "I didn't want that."

"Foolish girl," Ketriel snapped. "Hardly my fault that you were so stupid to believe that I respected your wishes when I helped you navigate your addled boy's mushroom trip. Or that you believed I would let you go home once you were done. Hah! A Goddess's work is never finished, how could you possibly _go home?_ Foolish! Idiotic even! How could you refuse a builder's ultimate power when I presented it on a silver platter? To refuse to become the ultimate creator? And you still refused! A stupid builder and her stupid manservant, blind to greater power!"

"Enough!" Rubiss shouted, making Ketriel flinch. "It is enough, Ketriel. It matters little if your intentions were noble or justified, given your actions were profane and invalid."

"Invalid!" Ketriel screamed. "How dare you suggest—!"

"Silence!" Rubiss thundered, her arms snapping open in a burst of light that made Ketriel fall over in surprise. "You have forgotten your place as an aid to creation. Need I list the sheer number of things  _ destroyed _ in this process of yours? You mangled her mind, desecrated both her  _ and _ his trust in themselves and each other, and laid waste to the very essence of their relationship. Never mind that you very nearly had both of them killed, the most devastating of ends which would have left no small number of broken hearts in its wake. You have no idea of the destruction you have caused and I can tolerate no such act in my court!"

"But—!"

"No! Surely you are no better than Hargon; your behavior is dubious at best and pure malice at worst. You shall reap your benefit with disgrace, Ketriel." She held up her palm before he could argue. "And I relieve you of your position and power." 

A soft and strange light encompassed Ketriel's gawking figure, flakes of sparkling light starting to drift away from his skin and body. They floated up towards Rubiss, circling around her hand like a planet's ring.

"Furthermore," she added, bringing her hand down in front of her. "You shall die for your crimes against creation."

"Wha—! You—!" Ketriel sputtered for several seconds, his face turning purple. "As if you could destroy me!" Ketriel spat, sitting up a little. "You're a Goddess of Creation, you have no actual power capable of destruction!"

Rubiss hummed. "This is true. However, death must come to all who threaten creation, Ketriel, and you should know this most of all. And in addition, as you should already know…" She turned away from Ketriel, smiling broadly and knowingly at Malroth. "There is no such restriction on  _ him." _

Malroth stared at her for several seconds as he processed what she was suggesting. Then his body flinched as if to try to stand, but he was held down by Crea's body against his chest. Fortunately she recognized his movement and forced herself to sit up on her own, soberly exchanging a look with him when she was steady. She gave a little solitary nod that he returned before silently standing and stepping around Crea, his gaze transfixed at Ketriel still frozen on the floor.

"It would be such a  _ shame," _ Rubiss added loudly, floating past Malroth towards Crea, "if he were to destroy you for me. Don't you think?" She stopped, smiling down at the floor and obstructing Crea's view of the scene that was about to unfold.

Malroth casually pulled his hammer from his back once Rubiss was behind him, slowly advancing across the room. Ketriel's face turned white with fear, holding up a hand as he slid backwards across the floor, trying to keep his distance.

"Now now," Ketriel cried nervously. "Surely we can come to some kind o-o-of  _ agreement _ here Rubiss? No need to be so, so, uh, hasty! Reckless! Th-There must be some other way!"

"Hey Ketriel," Malroth called, feeling both anger rip through him like an inferno as well as glee at finding cornered prey. "You remember that time on the beach? When I told you that when I found out who you were, and where you were, that I would kill you?"

Ketriel's eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in aghast silence as he moved backwards, still trying to get away.

Fury shone brightly in Malroth's eyes, and he couldn't contain his murderous smile, restlessly spinning his hammer in his hand. "Well guess what, Ketriel?" he murmured dangerously.

Ketriel's back hit the wall, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Malroth's slow advance. A terrified sob escaped his mouth. Malroth's smile spread, his eyes going wide with glee as he whispered.

"I  _ found  _ you."

Ketriel's scream was the only sound in Malroth's ears as he gripped his hammer with both hands and swung it down from over his head. Fury fueled him as he brought back his hammer again and again, barely registering the crunching of bones or the squelching of skin beneath his blows. The frustration and the pain of the last several weeks unleashed itself through Malroth's relentless attacks, even long after Ketriel's screams had gone silent. And yet he continued with his catharsis, mindlessly striking again and again and again, the smell of death flooding the room. Malroth didn't stop until his jaw ached from clenching it so tightly for so long. His breaths were heavy and panting as he stood up, straightening his spine as he looked down coolly at what was left of Ketriel's body. He spat on the ground before turning away, wiping the back of his wrist across his mouth and releasing a huge sigh. 

_ Finally.  _

It was like a cloud over his head had cleared, and the weight of two trolls lifted from both of his shoulders. It was pure relief and satisfaction, even if everything smelled terrible now. He blamed his nose.

The following stillness of the room led Malroth to approach the others again with caution, though Rubiss turned around with an unsettlingly joyous smile. "Thank you, child."

"You look weirdly happy about having somebody just barely die in your court," Malroth said. 

Her smile didn't fade. "When you have existed as long as me, this pales in comparison to the wars and other catastrophes I have witnessed. I need not mourn an agent of chaos."

Malroth nodded silently, his gaze drifting back to Crea who kept her head down. Somehow, seeing her again reminded him of just how utterly  _ exhausted _ he was. She certainly looked it, too. But beyond that, there was an inexplicable strangeness in his chest. The euphoric relief he felt for having finally disposed of Ketriel gave way to a strange feeling that he didn't recognize. He knew he wanted to return to her side, to hug her again and not think about anything else… But there was something holding him back. He didn't understand it.

Rubiss's smile softened as though she recognized his complicated thoughts. "I imagine you two have a lot to talk about."

Malroth could almost feel a gulf appear between them with that statement. Now he wished more than ever he could return to her side, but it still felt… wrong, somehow. Just odd.

Fast footfalls in the entryway caught their attention, making them all turn to see Imogene and Pastor Al running into the room. Imogene froze at the sight of the disfigured body at the back of the room, but quickly snapped his gaze to the rest of them. His eyes nearly glowed with anger.  _ "Mom!" _

Rubiss smiled, though Malroth noted that it looked rather tired. "Ah. Hello, Imogenious. I didn't think you'd be back so soon. I had thought you would stay on your island for some time."

"Where the hell have you  _ been?" _ he demanded, stomping towards her. "I've been stuck here since they pulled me up here to interrogate me! I  _ proved _ to them that I didn't do anything but nooo… They made me stay! Do you know how worried my boyfriend will be? It's been  _ months, _ Mom! I demand you make this right!"

Rubiss sighed, seeming to Malroth to be more human than he'd ever seen her before. Kids were universal, he supposed. 

"Maybe I should let Malroth put you in your place," she scoffed softly. "Ordering your mother about like that?…"

"Oh I dare you to try, pretty boy," Imogene snapped, glaring at Malroth.

Malroth snorted, gripping his still-bloody hammer in his hand. "Don't tempt me, servant boy. I just killed Ketriel, you'd be easy."

"Malroth," Crea called softly. "Please don't." Malroth kept staring as Imogene sneered.

"Trained, are you? I'd expect no less from a—aaah!"

Imogene grimaced as Rubiss pulled at his ear, yanking him to make him be quiet. 

"My apologies," Rubiss said stiffly. "Teenage rebellion knows no limits, even to Celestrians."

"Mooom! I'm not a—  _ ow!" _

Rubiss extended her hand, the sparkles she collected from Ketriel starting to drift away from her palm. "Consider this a gift," she said, watching them float to Crea. "And perhaps an apology. It is a remnant of deity, though it will not last forever. It should allow you the power to Zoom home, and perhaps build something… special. Build wisely, daughter builder." Rubiss silenced Imogene again with a cold glare, then glanced at Pastor Al with another smile. "Feel free to go with them, Alakazam. You belong with your own, now that the world is safe for a builder of your kind to return."

Pastor Al lifted his staff in tribute. "The honor is mine. Many thanks."

Rubiss smiled softly, then hardened as she twisted Imogene's ear again and dragged him out of the room before he could protest again.

The room went deathly quiet as only the three of them remained. Pastor Al shifted uncomfortably in the strange silence until Crea lifted her head and turned her body slightly to see him with a tired and defeated smile. "It's good to see you again, Pastor."

"Likewise, young builder." He raised his staff. "I am eager to see young Rosie again."

"Oh, she'll be so excited," Crea said. "Hellen too."

"Hellen? My mentor? Last I knew she had gone to Malhalla. How did she—?"

"You can always ask her yourself when we get back," Malroth mumbled, trying to rub the tiredness from his face. 

Silence fell again until Crea sighed. "Alright," she said softly, rising to her feet. "Hold on."

Without even having to touch her, Crea cast her warp and the three of them disappeared in a blue glow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for the record, this is a T-rated fic, so I didn't wanna get too gory for Ket's demise lol. feel free to imagine it with as much aggression as you wish! :3


	55. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth has a bit of a breakdown.

They landed in the field outside their house, the sunset reflecting off the umber walls seeming to give the whole canyon a red glow. Malroth felt the familiar unease in his stomach from warping, though he was admittedly unsure if it was the warping or the  _ other _ things that made him feel off, whatever they were. In either case, he ignored it as best he could. Which was fortunately easy considering Pastor Al's confusion. 

"Where are we?" he wondered, glancing around. "This looks and smells nothing like Furrowfield."

"By our house on our island," Crea explained softly. "We live away from everyone else."

Pastor Al hummed. "I suppose that would be prudent given how much the villagers are prone to beg you for things."

Crea blushed. "Yeah. Among other reasons."

Pastor Al glanced between her and Malroth for a second before nodding. "I shall leave you to it, then. How do I reach the fields from here?"

Crea pointed. "Up this canyon. It'll turn right a bit and there will be a little lake in front of you. It's just over that. I still haven't gotten around to making a bridge yet."

"Will you come with me?"

Her smile looked sad and strained. "I feel like I haven't slept in four days. I should probably rest."

"Very well." Pastor Al nodded. "I shall see you another day. Perhaps it's time for another harvest festival." He turned and waddled away before Crea could say anything else, disappearing around the corner.

Only the waterfall echoed between them now. Malroth felt heavy as his exhaustion returned with a vengeance, and he turned away to look up at their house. He wondered why he didn't feel entirely happy. Behind him, Crea inhaled softly to speak. He simply tensed, taking the pendant in his hand to stabilize himself.

"Malroth…"

He didn't turn around to see her, still confused by whatever he was feeling. "We should rest."

It was silent for a few seconds. Then, "Yeah. Okay." She sounded as tired as he felt.

They went into the house and up the stairs in silence. After shedding most of their clothing and equipment, and taking a quick rinse in the shower, Malroth again felt the strange gulf as he climbed into bed, seeing her do the same. It almost felt wrong to touch her again… aside from the fact that she was still glowing.

Crea reached out first, tentatively setting her hand on his arm. "Malroth," she began again. 

He managed to keep himself from flinching. "You're still glowing."

"Oh." She looked down at her arm. "Yeah… I guess that would be a little weird."

He watched her cautiously, keeping his arms folded and tucked against his chest. 

Crea tried to force a smile. "What do you think I should do with it?"

Malroth shrugged, fighting back a yawn. "Whatever you want."

"Malroth, are you okay?" she asked softly. "This isn't normally like you."

He shrugged again.  _ You haven't been you for a while either, this is nothing new. _ "Exhausted," he replied. "Aren't you?"

She searched his expression for a moment, feeling to him like she was passing judgement. But she sighed soon after. "Yeah," she relented. "We can talk tomorrow."

Malroth nodded and Crea rolled over, maintaining her distance on the other side of the bed. It was only a few seconds until he could hear her soft breaths, indicating how fast she'd fallen asleep. Holding the pendant in his palm, he stared at her back for what felt like hours before he could even close his eyes.

* * *

A distant knocking awoke him instantly, his eyes snapping open as he tried to identify the sound. Silence passed for a few seconds before he heard it again, instantly deflating as he realized someone was at the front door. Crea stirred at the third knock, and Malroth hurried to leap out of bed.

"I got it," he assured, not making eye contact as he hurried down the stairs in only his pajama bottoms and locket that he still hadn't dared to take off. Malroth paused at the door, hand on the doorknob and taking a deep breath before he pulled the door open.

"Malroth!" 

He winced, partially from being blinded by the morning sunlight and otherwise shocked by the voice. "Damara," he acknowledged, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

"I came as soon as I heard," she said, panting a little as though she'd been running. "Cygnus dropped me off in front of the castle and everyone spent two days asking about how I got there and about you two and myself. I did not hear of your return until word spread about some Pastor fellow that came home with you."

Malroth slowly let his eyes relax as he adjusted to the light. He could clearly see the concern in her eyes and sense her hesitation after she caught her breath, and after a full minute of silence she reached out to gently cup his face in her hand. Damara smoothed her thumb over his cheek as she observed him, gently nudging his face in one direction or the other to get a better look. He didn't resist at all.

"You carry a heaviness," she murmured, bringing her hand down after another few silent seconds. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Sighing, Malroth nodded and pushed the door open a little more and stepped back out of her reach. "Just stay quiet," he mumbled. "Crea's still asleep."

Leaving the doorway, Damara followed him inside, heading for the couch and looking at him expectantly as she perched herself on the edge of it. Malroth thought about detouring to the kitchen to put on some water for tea, but immediately dismissed the idea for sounding like too much work at the moment. So he followed her, mirroring her movements to sit down. As soon as he was comfortable his body went still, leaving him to mindlessly stare down at his hands.

Damara observed his face for a while, reluctant to break the stillness but likewise concerned at his odd behavior. "Child?" she called softly, her eyes not leaving him for an instant. "My son?"

He blinked, coming back into focus and sighing. Certainly she was asking for what had happened. That was what he was hearing in her voice, right? And maybe talking through it would help him figure out the strange feeling. "They were at the top of the Observatory," he began quietly. "Crea and Ketriel. By the time I got there… she started to change."

"Change?" Damara murmured.

Malroth nodded, still staring at his hands. "Transformed. Ketriel did something. But…" He hesitated, grappling for impossible words. "But I was too late," Malroth eventually whispered. "I couldn't stop her from ascending. I tried to stop it, but I was too late. She changed. Ascended to become the Goddess." He swallowed thickly. "And then she forgot me."

Damara's eyebrows turned up in concern, but she stayed quiet.

Malroth took a heavy breath before continuing. "It felt like the world fell apart. Like everything ended. I knew if I had to go on without her I would, but I didn't  _ want _ to. I didn't… want to." He sighed, slumping against the back of the couch. "When we were in Moonbrooke, she told me I wouldn't exist without her, and that I owed her everything for it… Maybe she's right."

"She is wrong," Damara countered softly. "You owe nothing."

He shrugged one shoulder, continuing without acknowledging it any further. "Rubiss came back after Crea changed and told her to decide if she wanted to go home, or to stay and take Ketriel's place as assistant to Rubiss. She said she'd stay. I begged, she mocked, I got angry, she made me show her a memory to convince her to turn back. Somehow that worked." Malroth paused, taking a moment to clench and unclench his fists. "But before she turned back, she… she asked me to try to forgive her." He shook his head, closing his eyes as the strange feeling swelled again within his chest. "And I should. The worst of it was Ketriel after all, since he admitted to taking over her body sometimes to make her say and do things. But I just… I want to forgive, I do, but I don't know if I can yet. Or how. It may not have been  _ her _ words, but it was still her voice and her eyes that said all that stuff…"

"Oh child." Damara shifted next to him, holding him tight in a hug. "It must certainly be difficult to separate what is and what was. Or separate her from Ketriel, in this case. Have you discussed this with her yet?"

Malroth shook his head against her shoulder. "No. We both passed out within minutes of coming home last night."

"Then perhaps we must speak now, hm?" Damara said softly, smiling before standing.

He was frozen for a split second as she took a step, snatching her sleeve as she passed. "Don't," he whispered, looking terrified up at her face. "Please."

She tilted her head, her expression unchanging. "Why?"

Hesitating, Malroth gripped her sleeve more. "I… I'm not ready yet."

Damara smiled softly. "Is alright. We will do this together, of course. All will be well." She patted his hand and her sleeve came out of his weak grip, letting her advance to the stairs.

Malroth glanced quickly between her back and the door, wondering if it was too late for him to sprint outside and get lost on the island somewhere. When she disappeared up the stairs, he tried to urge himself to stand and run, to flee the looming conversation of recounting everything while he was still trying to understand what had happened.  _ How had Crea been so forgiving?  _ he wondered, thinking briefly back to Malhalla and the aftermath. But then he heard Damara speaking in hushed tones and Crea barely responding and he felt himself get paralyzed with dread and anticipation. Footsteps on the stairs snapped him out of his trance, and he turned away to face the rest of the living room. Leaning against the armrest, he pulled his knees up to his chest, the pendant and necklace clinking softly as he moved. 

Quiet footsteps walked near him a minute later, and he recognized Damara returning to the couch in front of him. Crea walked after her, going to sit in the alcove by the window while rubbing sleep from her eyes. Malroth simply kept his gaze on his knees, trying to watch them out of the corner of his eye.

"Malroth," Damara said gently, understanding his posture. "I know is hurting. But you cannot process this alone."

"Sure I can," he mumbled, squeezing his legs.

"No," she insisted, her voice still quiet. "You want to separate what was Ketriel and what was Crea, yes? Let her tell you."

Malroth tensed. "What I  _ want _ is to forget it," he growled defensively.  _ Self-reflection is for idiots, anyway. _

Crea's voice caught him off guard. "Malroth…"

It stabbed him in a way he didn't expect. He clenched his eyes shut, pulling his knees even closer. "I said I don't want to," he growled again.

"And why?" Damara said. "You need closure. Understanding. You cannot achieve that without Crea."

"I don't  _ want _ to understand!" he shouted, the room going unsettlingly quiet. "I don't want to talk and I don't want to know. I understand enough, okay? Just—"

"Malroth—" 

Damara reached out to grab his hand, but he flung his arm up to brush it away. "Leave me alone!" he cried, hurrying to his feet and dashing out of the house. The sun blinded him again but he didn't care as the door slammed behind him, running down the stairs as fast as he dared with the pendant bouncing wildly against his chest. He wanted to climb the mountains and flee, but without his hammer he didn't trust his chances with the monsters up there. Not in this mental state. He didn't have a complete death wish… Yet. Instead, he took refuge behind a support beam at the bottom of the stairs, curling up in a tight ball and gasping helplessly as the feeling in his chest overtook his lungs. It was a few seconds later that he finally began to cry with the steady sounds of the waterfall roaring in his ears.

Malroth wasn't sure why he was crying, but he was certain he couldn't stop. Either way the emotions that festered inside him felt raw and inflamed, only making him more confused.  _ I should be happy, shouldn't I? _ he wondered, rubbing his eyes with tight fists and trying to control his sobs.  _ We're home, and we're safe. Why do I feel… like this? _

He didn't stop sobbing as he tried to figure it out. Why couldn't he forgive her now like she had forgiven him back then? Why couldn't he let go? Why did he want to run again? Was this… normal? Human things were so confusing already; if crying like this was any semblance of normal, there was no way he would know about it.

His chest tightened as he cried, and he pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes. After a while, Malroth realized the hurt felt kind of nice actually, in a strange way. He wasn't sure he could explain that, and even if he could, he thought it sounded stupid anyway. Still, his mind let go of the other thoughts for a little while, thankfully giving him some time to simply exist… albeit while crying. 

Eventually the storm lessened and calmed somewhat within him, leaving him to sigh repeatedly and rub at his eyes, the heat and salt still lingering on puffy eyelids. Crawling to the pond a few feet away, Malroth splashed water on his face, focusing on breathing again and clearing the gunk from around his nose.  _ Gross,  _ he thought. Still, he felt better, strangely. But even then it didn't stop him from kneeling there at the water's edge, staring at the waterfall as he pondered.

That reaction had been strange and unexpected. And yet, he  _ still _ felt empty and sad. Malroth sighed. Malhalla had been wildly easier to cope with, he decided, even after all the miscommunication and nightmare fuel. Never mind the fact that he had been in various stages of unconsciousness while battling Hargon in his mind, leaving only fragments of visions and other atrocities within his memory. And somehow… Crea had kept her determined optimism while fighting and building her way through Malhalla, stubbornly convinced that she would make it to save him in time. And didn't seem too perturbed about anything, in the end, short of sleeping for several days once she'd remodeled the house in the canyon for their use. She had stayed close to him, hugging him often, much like he was trying to do now but couldn't manage to convince himself to even touch her. 

_ So why is it so hard for me? _

Malroth continued to ponder their return the last time. They had immediately needed to sacrifice his gained power to restore the world to realness, a choice he was easily willing to make. And then the residents had been so overwhelmed with gratitude that it had turned into a nonstop party for… actually, he wasn't even sure how long. All night, at least. Either way he had fled to the mountain sometime in the early morning to be alone and contemplate the experience, much like now. And yet, once the sun rose, Crea had followed him up there, as always, bringing breakfast and questions. Malroth chuckled humorlessly to himself as he remembered it. Leave it to her to follow him when he needed it, for once, when for the rest of his life up until then  _ he _ had always followed  _ her. _

Still, he could remember her face as they discussed what had happened. How she admitted she was worried, and all her other fears relating to if he'd forgive her. If his words were real. And yet, when he asked her why… after all the horrible things Hargon had made him say and she still followed him to give him the walloping he deserved, she followed because of their promise… and because of her admittance that she loved him.

Malroth frowned, remembering a similar conversation they had before leaving for Aletia. It took him several times of asking to really understand her words, asking why she had followed after he'd been so mean and rude.

_ It wasn't your fault,  _ she'd said. _ It wasn't really you. That made it easy to forgive. _

He exhaled heavily, a weight settling back on his heart as well as the chain around his neck. Perhaps then she'd  _ always _ known when it wasn't him. She'd heard him question his own words when he thought he couldn't hear her, knew that he pushed her away when he wanted to stay close, suspected he'd been scared of the power that developed inside him and then fled in a backward attempt to protect her. But now that their situations were reversed, where she had had solid evidence and his own words to help her know something was wrong, what did he have in place of that? Countless fights and drifting apart, with no remorse at the time for  _ anything _ she was saying? Malroth scoffed. Whether it was her or not didn't really matter, since he had thought that she had more control over the situation. He had let himself believe it had been her all along, with just influences of Ketriel instead of pure takeovers. He had been wrong, of course, but in his mind it had  _ looked _ like her all the same. Whittling him down. Destroying his trust and confidence. 

He hated that. But he didn't know how to stop seeing it.

Malroth sighed, his mind drifting lazily again as he continued to stare at the water. He didn't feel any closer to any answers, not really. He understood a little better, but he didn't exactly know anything different now than he hadn't before. It wasn't lost on him that he'd been blessedly alone for the last little while. In truth, he had expected Damara to come running after him immediately to try to fix things, but he wasn't going to complain. He needed to decompress, after all. Certainly that was all this was, right?

Malroth's thumb passed over the dulled corners of the locket, mindlessly staring at nothing. He could only hope so, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :c


	56. The Sacrifice

Crea flinched when the door slammed shut, looking up from her knees to the door and Damara in quick succession. Damara instead sighed at the closed door before turning away to face her with a tired smile.

"I suppose he needs a little time alone. Do you want to sit with me?"

Crea gave a small nod, glancing out the window as she stood to see Malroth running down the stairs. She hoped that meant he wasn't going far. As she moved, she was hardly aware of her own body as she sat rigidly on the couch and stared back down at her knees. The soft glow of the Goddess's power still shone beneath her skin, making her wonder if it would ever dissipate on its own. At the moment, building was the furthest thing from her mind.

Damara reached over to take her closed hand. "Crea."

"What just happened," she whispered, the last wisps of sleep fleeing her mind and leaving confusion behind. "I don't understand."

"Trauma, I would expect," Damara answered softly. "Post-traumatic stress, likely. Things were not easy for either of you, and he suffered much because of Ketriel's words. He was very afraid for losing you. Surely the feelings are all hitting him all at once, now that his mind has a calm moment to process them."

Crea sighed, loosely crossing her arms across her chest. "He wouldn't even look at me."

"I know." Damara put her hand on Crea's wrist. "He will. You both just need a little time first."

"I just wish I could remember," Crea mumbled slowly. "I only remember Moonbrooke up to a point, with a couple bits and pieces towards the end… Then I remember being on the Isle for maybe five minutes before getting pulled up to Ketriel's place, and then I remember a lot of pain as my body changed to become a Goddess. But then the next thing I knew, I was me again. Normal, but super tired. And Malroth was holding me. I don't remember being a Goddess at all, or when Malroth got there or how." Crea paused, poking her exposed thigh and watching the light that shone from beneath. "I have this power so I know it happened, but… How can I console him when I don't know what was said? How can I console  _ me? _ I know you want me to help Malroth separate me from Ketriel's actions, but I don't even know that. Is it enough to say  _ I don't know _ however many hundred times without it being gaslighting?" She sighed, slumping a little.

Damara hummed, slipping her other hand on the other side of Crea's wrist and rubbing her thumb alongside it. "Do you want him to tell you?"

Crea hesitated, her sight going vacant as she stared into space. "I don't know if I want that either," she whispered a few seconds later. "Should I cause him all that pain  _ again _ by having to tell me what happened? Should I allow myself to feel guilty for words that weren't mine?"

"How would you feel guilty for that?" Damara asked. "Was not your words; you said so just now. Do you feel likewise guilty when your friends on this very Isle say something you don't like? Do you take personal responsibility for everything they say or do?"

"But I could've been stronger," Crea said, still staring at her legs. "I let Ketriel in and I shouldn't have."

Damara scoffed. "Bullshit."

Crea raised her startled eyes to see her, silently questioning her declaration. Damara simply smiled.

"You know who Ketriel  _ is, _ yes? Well…  _ was." _

Crea watched her warily, not entirely certain she understood what the question was. "Yes…?"

Damara shook her head. "I mean job. Did you know his job? His purpose?"

Crea kept staring. "Is this relevant?"

"Child, according to Malroth, Ketriel was the assistant to the Goddess," Damara answered, ignoring the question. "If you ask me, that sounds like a powerful person, no?"

"I suppose…" Crea chewed her lip. "Why?"

"If his job was to find a suitable replacement for a  _ goddess of all creation, _ I doubt any could have resisted, including you  _ or _ Malroth." Damara patted Crea's hand softly. "My point is, none of this is your fault. Whether you should or shouldn't have is impossible to know. We are here now. Safe. Alive. All we can do now is move forward."

Crea let her eyes fall to Damara's hands, pondering that for a minute. "Maybe," she said softly. "But… it still hurts."

"Yes, I know," Damara sighed. "And will yet for some time, most likely. But is best if you do your healing together. Rely on each other to rebuild what has been broken by an enemy. Is painful, true. But so are broken bones, and once they are done healing they are stronger than before. I have no doubt this will be the same with you two." She gave a small smile, patting her hand again.

Crea chewed the inside of her cheek, glancing instead towards the door. "Either way," she mumbled, "the other half of this problem ran off…"

"I shall fetch him," Damara said, standing up and letting go of her hands. "Don't worry. He still needs you just as much as you need him."

Crea sighed again, looking down at her knees. "I hope you're right," she mumbled. "It definitely doesn't feel like he does."

Damara pretended not to hear, pushing the door open and stepping out into the sunlight. She closed her eyes as she breathed in slowly, thinking of Malroth and where he might have gone. Given that he fled half-dressed she didn't think he would've gone far, but then again, this was Malroth. It wasn't common for him to follow most societal norms, never mind  _ know _ them. Plus, his limits were different than most. Damara shook her head. No, with how emotional he was currently feeling, she doubted he made it far at all.  _ Best to start close.  _

Following the stairs down to begin her search, she was surprised to already hear a sniffle near the bottom. Damara lingered for a moment, simply listening until she took a tentative step forward, peering around the support beam. Malroth was kneeling at the water's edge with his back to her, seeming to stare at the waterfall. She sighed before calling gently. 

"Malroth."

He didn't move for several seconds, making Damara wonder if he was listening at all. But then his head fell forward, shoulders rising as though he were taking a deep breath, then turned. His eyes were pink and lifeless, watching her sadly.

"I told you I wasn't ready yet," he mumbled.

Damara nodded slowly, stepping forward to kneel next to him. Malroth turned his gaze back to the water, hand at his chest and holding the locket.

"What is ready?" she asked softly.

He was silent for several minutes, but then he sighed. "Not hurting."

"Running away certainly won't help that, my son. I am sorry to say you will continue to hurt until you can speak with Crea."

"It was too real," Malroth mumbled. "All of what she said. That… she doesn't need me. Doesn't _ want _ me."

"That is factually a lie," Damara said.

He sighed heavily. "How do you know that for sure?" he whispered. "I don't even know that."

"She doesn't remember much of the latter half of your journey, for one thing," she answered firmly. "And she doesn't remember her ascension at all. Only the first half of your trip to Moonbrooke remains in her mind. This is why I say you must talk to her, Malroth. My son. My little star. You couldn't know that unless you gave her the opportunity to tell you."

"Little star…" Malroth scoffed under his breath before he shook his head, closing his eyes and tilting his head down. "It hurts too much to talk."

"Child, think of this." Damara adjusted to face him a little better. "When you get a splinter, you must remove the object before you get infected, yes? Or before that scabs over and seals inside you. No amount of merely wishing a splinter away will make that so."

"This is worse than a splinter!" Malroth blurted. "This is like… like…" He growled, unable to think of a decent comparison.

She tilted her head. "Then why would you not want to remove the object in order to begin healing?"

"I'm scared, okay?" he snapped. "Is that what you want me to say? Well there, I said it. Are you happy now?" He crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

"I know you're afraid," Damara said gently. "But as I recall this same thing happened in Aletia too, when you were panicked about Crea's response to Laic looking like Cantlin. Did you not feel better once you spoke and recommitted yourselves?"

Malroth faltered, his mind thrown back to a simpler time. "That was different," he scowled.

She hummed. "How?"

He was silent aside from huffing once, not knowing how to answer despite knowing she was right.

Damara turned, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Just try," she said softly.

_ "Try _ to talk?" Malroth growled. "Talk to her about what? How I'm terrified that she meant all the nasty things Ketriel supposedly made her say? Or that maybe some of it was  _ true?" _ He scoffed, staring angrily at the water. "Or should I try to tell her how I'm terrified because she almost got destroyed from building in the first place, and now there's nobody to watch for her? She's got these  _ Goddess powers _ for some amount of time and for all I know it could make her feel like she wants it back once it's gone and then she'll  _ leave _ again—"

"Oh."

Malroth felt panicked goosebumps prickle uncomfortably at Crea's voice, making him gasp as he turned, seeing her on the step with her hand resting against the support beam. 

"That's why you're worried, right?" Crea whispered, staying completely still. "That I won't want to give up the power?"

Malroth grit his teeth, looking away and closing his eyes. Frustrated tears gathered beneath his eyelids as he stayed still, keeping himself from nodding.

She hesitated a moment. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

He growled softly, clenching his hands into fists at his knees. 

"Please tell me," Crea said.

"Why would you care now," Malroth grumbled. 

She flinched at the stinging accusation. "Malroth," she whispered. "I hardly remember anything. We came back from Moonahan and everything went spotty after that. I remember seeing my messed up reflection… which terrified me. I sort of remember walking around on a mountain with you and talking about the fortress up there, but I don't remember how we got there or why. Next thing I remember we were on the boat going home and you weren't sitting in your usual place on the prow so I knew something was really wrong, but…" Crea sighed heavily. "I couldn't bring myself to move to figure out where you'd gone…"

Malroth ground his teeth together, trying to sort out the confusing feelings in his heart. "You didn't answer my question," he growled. "Why do you care?"

She sighed. "Because I still love you," she murmured. "I thought… I mean, I think I understand why you'd want to leave and run away, but I… I didn't think it would come to this."

_ "You're _ the one who bailed," Malroth spat, whipping his head around to stare her down with angry tears streaking down his cheeks. "Throwing me aside so easily. Throwing your pendant at me and telling me you didn't need me anymore. Even if it was Ketriel it still  _ looked _ like you! How do you expect me to just  _ get over _ that?"

Crea shook her head, her heart clenching painfully as sadness encompassed her. "I'm not asking you to do that," she whispered. "I want you to work through it  _ with _ me. Help me fill in the gaps. Help me know where I need to help you, since I don't know anything, Malroth. I love you. I want to help both of us."

He growled. "You think it's so easy," he murmured. "To just trust you so blindly again."

She took a short, pained breath. "I just—"

"Do you have any idea how I felt, thinking that I'd lost you?" Malroth snapped, cutting her off. "You followed some whack-job because he showed you a fake vision of his broken town and you completely  _ refused _ to listen to me after that. You followed his advice, shoved me aside over and over, simultaneously blamed me for everything, and for what?" He growled. "So you could get a little grab bag of Goddess powers to play with?" 

"Oh,  _ that's _ why," Crea whispered suddenly, her eyes going wide. "You're afraid I'm going to choose building over you."

Malroth stared at her for a minute before clenching his eyes shut, bowing his head a little as his tears spilled faster. 

Crea took a firm step forward, kneeling in front of him and reaching to put her hands on his knees. "Then let me prove it to you," she insisted softly, "that I choose you. That I will always choose you."

"And how would you manage to do that?" he muttered angrily, not opening his eyes. "Simply talk nicely again?  _ Build _ me something nice?" He scoffed.

"No." She took a deep breath, steadying her racing heart. "By giving it up," she whispered. 

_ "What?" _ Malroth couldn't keep his head down at that, startled eyes snapping up to meet her face and searching carefully even as small tears kept escaping him. "What are you talking about?"

Crea smiled, the sadness in her expression entirely eclipsed by her determination. "Giving up the Goddess power."

There was a brief moment of stillness before his gaze started to dart frantically between her glowing eyes, shock and confused surprise coloring his expression. His lips moved in imperceptible motions, his questions getting tangled before he could even get them out of his mouth. Damara inhaled to speak at his side and he flinched, having momentarily forgotten she was there.

"Are you sure, child?"

Crea nodded, her eyes glowing brighter. "Very sure," she said, her voice still soft but firmer than iron. "More than when I missed him in Skelkatraz. More than when I knew I had to jump into hell to save him. More than when we left for Aletia to break his curse. More than I knew that I wanted to spend my life by his side." Her gaze didn't leave him and she smiled shyly. "Malroth," she whispered.

"You shouldn't," he sputtered suddenly, his voice quiet and hiding.

Crea didn't answer, taking his hands and squeezing them once as her entire body glowed brilliantly, even in the sunlight. Malroth squinted, waiting until she squeezed his hands again and he could open his eyes to see her again, smiling and very much not glowing anymore.

"I have to," she whispered. "I do. It took me this long to realize it, but I would give up building forever if it meant I got to stay with you. I wish I would've realized it sooner. Maybe I could've saved us some heartache." Her smile faltered.

Something pulled at Malroth's heart– he understood that sentiment all too well. He'd felt it himself, back when they returned from Malhalla, wondering to himself how things would've been different had he trusted her like he should've. But even knowing that, try as he might, he couldn't now pull his feelings out from behind the wall in his mind where he had hidden them. As it was, he couldn't stop the sudden feelings of shame and embarrassment. "I'm not worth  _ that _ much," he whispered. 

"Malroth," Damara challenged softly. "Little star. You remember why a star, yes?"

"Yes, but… I'm not talking about  _ my _ worth." He shook his head, his gaze not leaving Crea's face for a moment. "Why would you give it up? That's who you are. Why would you give that up… for  _ me?" _

Crea squeezed his hands again. "Because I love you. Isn't that enough?" she asked softly. "If it would let us stay together… wouldn't that be enough?"

He didn't understand. And maybe he never would. "You know I would never actually ask you to do that, right?" Malroth sighed.

"I know." Crea smiled again. "Which is why you shouldn't feel bad. I did it because I wanted to show you that I would. For you. Despite everything else."

Malroth hesitated, finally tearing his eyes away to look down at their hands. He wanted to move them, wipe his sweaty palms on his pants and away from her hot skin, but he didn't dare do it. The conflicting feelings were too strong to know what to do now. His heart was pounding, and he just wanted to be alone for a little while to try to make sense of it all. If that was even possible.

Damara seemed to sense his apprehension, inhaling just loud enough to get their attention. "I believe we should rest," she said softly. "The journey has been particularly long and heavy for you both. No doubt a little time to recover physically would do you well."

Crea nodded, deflating slightly at Malroth's inaction. 

"In the end, will be alright," Damara soothed. "We will get out of this mess the same way we got in– slowly and carefully." She stood slowly, offering her hands down to both of them. 

Crea looked up and met her knowing smile, sighing gently and letting go of Malroth's hands to stand with Damara's help. Malroth stood on his own, still looking down while deep in thought.

"Come on," Damara said, ushering them towards the house. "Now we must rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> closer...
> 
> I'm sure y'all have figured this out by now, since y'all are scary smart! but this whole fic was basically, "let's take the game, flip the roles, and do it again" but like, with everything opposite. so like... they used Malroth's powers, imbued with pure destruction, and used it to essentially create the entire world and everything in it... and what's opposite that? using the power of entire creation for... nothing? I guess? so she destroyed it. :3c I was really proud of that juxtaposition lol.
> 
> I'm not so sadistic to make them break up tho, I just can't do that (contrary to everything opposite!) but they'll get there, I promise. poor Malroth just doesn't understand Feelings.


	57. The Pastor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth goes for a late night stroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheating and I'm posting two chapters because I really should've just let them big a combined megachapter, but I also didn't want to end the story with 59 chapters cos that would've bugged the hell out of me (for no good reason, really) and I have to see that more often so... here we are.
> 
> or rather, here we go!

After making a makeshift bed in the living room for Damara, all three of them retired for the day despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Crea and Malroth both fell right asleep, facing away from each other in their bed as their minds tried to grapple with the strangeness of being back, and of being normal. Well, sort of normal. They weren't completely there yet, even if their surroundings were.

Which meant it was dark out when Malroth woke next, the large windows leading to the balcony letting shadows dance over the floor. He watched them for a long time, trying to will himself back to sleep and rest as Damara had demanded. But after an hour of trying Malroth gave up, standing and changing silently into his adventuring clothes. He needed to think, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do it here. 

Tiptoeing down the stairs, it wasn't until he hit the bottom that he noticed the candle at the kitchen table, making him gasp quietly in surprise. Damara turned to see him as he clapped his hand over his mouth and gave her a sheepish look. She simply smiled, nonchalantly stirring her tea. 

"Off somewhere?" she whispered.

Malroth looked off to the side, feeling ashamed. "I need some time to think," he admitted quietly. "I… I don't think I can get over everything that happened so quickly." He sighed, his shoulders drooping. "As much as I want to."

"Wanting to is a good first step," Damara said. "The rest will come. One day and one step at a time."

"I can't stay here tonight. Not right now. Not with my head like this." He shook his head. "But I'm not running away, either."

"I know." Damara paused to take a sip of her tea. "Is not like you to flee so entirely. But time and space can be necessary after such dramatic events."

Malroth sighed in relief. "I need this."

"I know," she said again. "Just be sure to check in, my little star. I don't want you getting too lost."

He nodded gratefully, moving to the door once she started to make shooing motions with her hand. 

"Be safe. I will stay with Crea. I will tell her."

Nodding again, Malroth took his hammer from its place by the door and slung it over his shoulder before stepping outside. The door was quiet as he closed it, the cool night air grazing his skin. He sighed as he turned around, looking over the field and the small pool of water from around the corner of the house. The world was so still at this unearthly hour, enough that it took his breath away for a few minutes. But eventually he gained his bearings, shaking his head and turning away from the house to head up the canyon. He wasn't sure exactly where he would go, but it wasn't going to be here.

So he followed wherever his feet wanted to go. Malroth wandered into the desert, around the tidal pools to the east, down to the empty dock, and eventually back up near the Hermit's temple. Both the world and his mind were blissfully silent as he followed the bridge, still not paying attention. But eventually he found himself in a field of green grass, the toe of his shoes scuffing a black line in the dirt. Looking up from his daze, Malroth saw a faint circle, slowly realizing this was where Crea had been taken. He faltered, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

"Hello, Malroth."

His head snapped up at the voice, seeing Pastor Al striding towards him by himself. Malroth relaxed. "Oh, hey. Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

The Pastor chuckled. "Oh, indeed. Couldn't sleep because I don't sleep. Never have."

"Oh." Malroth frowned at that, thinking back on those times in Furrowfield where he remembered the magus standing firm in his lookout over the Deitree both day and night. "Yeah, I forgot about that. Still, I'm surprised Hellen isn't with you. Or Rosie, actually. I didn't think she would sleep for a few days with how excited she'd be to see you."

"Hah. She was awake all yesterday night and today, to be sure. Thought that I might disappear if she took her eyes off me. I, and the other humans of Furrowfield, finally convinced her and everyone else to sleep this evening in lieu of a party. Humans are so fragile, after all. Maintaining a physical balance is important. Hence Hellen is making sure they stay put so I have a little space to myself for the first time since I arrived yesterday." Pastor Al cocked his head. "But what of you? The others gave me a brief overview of what has happened here since I… passed. Things about Crea and recruiting others and Malhalla last of all…" He hummed, rubbing the orb on the end of his staff. "Back in the day we did not know what you were, nor did you know that much of your past. Did you ever discover that?"

Malroth gave a pained smile, looking down at the circle at his feet. "Well, these days we know I'm human," he said. "Back then I… Well. I was… just a vessel. A container. It didn't matter what I was."

"Ah, yes, I had heard briefly about that Lord of Destruction business sometime after I arrived at the Observatory." He nodded. "Painful, I am certain. But you lived. And made the world real. That should be celebrated."

Rubbing the tip of his boot in the dirt, Malroth nodded absentmindedly. "I suppose."

Pastor Al observed him for a moment before speaking again. "Something troubles you."

"That obvious?" Malroth scoffed, crossing his arms tight across his chest. "It's not important. I'll be fine."

"If you insist." Humming doubtfully, Pastor Al looked up at the sky. "I have come to learn things about humans, you know. They're not very good at carrying things alone. Very social beings. They are stronger for it." He shrugged at Malroth's stubborn silence. "I may not be human, but your troubles will burden you until you break if you do not answer or relieve them. You must seek a way forward."

Malroth scoffed again. "Easy enough to say," he grumbled.

"As if the Malroth I knew back on Furrowfield would let that stop him."

He looked up, not gleaning anything from the masked face that met his gaze. "What do you mean?"

Pastor Al laughed. "You never backed down from anything. No challenge was too great, no barrier too thick to keep you from accomplishing your goals." He raised an eyebrow. "Or Crea's goals, for that matter."

"Things change," Malroth scowled quickly, looking back down again at the charred grass.

"In some ways." Pastor Al hummed. "I don't think your devotion to her is one of those things, however."

Malroth bristled. "You don't know what happened—"

"Nor do I need to," the Pastor interrupted. "I know  _ her _ and I know  _ you. _ Something came between you and you must work together to fight and fix it as you've always done. What difference is this compared to the setback of the destruction of the Deitree? I was told you built a new one, which hardly surprised me. Now you must build again what has been broken, just as you did back then. But you must overcome it together. Always together."

A gentle prodding at his heart told Malroth he was right, but he shuffled uncomfortably instead, crossing his arms tighter across his chest. "But how do you rebuild…  _ that?" _ he wondered softly. "That's not so easy to rebuild off a blueprint like we did with the Deitree."

"The same way that you grow a seed," Pastor Al replied. Then he smiled, pointing down at the dirt. "You must give it the right conditions to flourish."

Malroth followed his pointing finger, seeing a tiny sapling begin to sprout from among the blackened grass. His grip slackened as he looked at it, caving to the truth of those words. After staring at it for several minutes, he raised his gaze to the sky, blowing a tight stream of air from between his lips. "I should get going."

Pastor Al nodded. "Sunrise is coming."

"Yeah." Malroth didn't move either. "I know."

It was silent between them for a long minute as they both watched the sky. But then Pastor Al turned to him with a sly smile on his face. "Well, I suppose this won't be the last time you insist on waking so early in order to participate in such idle chatter, hmm?"

Malroth laughed loudly at that. "Probably not. I think you're okay with that though."

Pastor Al scoffed, though his smile remained. "You would think I would be used to it by now, certainly. Unfortunately I grow tired of this prattle. Be off with you so that I may know peace!" The gem on his staff glowed brightly, his cape flapping behind him dramatically. 

Covering his mouth to stop from laughing louder, Malroth simply nodded, speaking once he'd finally regained his composure. "Sure thing, windbag. Say hi to Rosie for me."

The staff stopped glowing, and Pastor Al returned to his normal posture. "I will. Send my regards to Crea."

Malroth nodded with a strained smile, though it faded as soon as he turned away to make his way back to the canyon.  _ Yeah, sure, _ he thought glumly, his lightheartedness disappearing.  _ No problem. _

He sighed, setting off under the first few rays of sunlight.


	58. The Catch Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malroth returns to the house.

The morning had been kind to Crea. Aside from walking up alone, at least. And not counting Damara informing her that Malroth would be gone for some indeterminate amount of time, either. Or the fact that sparse memories had started to peek through her forgotten consciousness, making her grimace at the cruelty that bore her face.

But aside from all that of that, it was fine.

Yeah. Definitely fine.

Crea sighed at the kitchen table, staring down at her plate of eggs and fidgeting with the fringe on her dress. She'd been awake since dawn, but in the couple hours since then she still hadn't wanted to eat. Damara had tried to encourage her a few times but gave up once she recognized Crea's despair, instead trying to get her to eat just a few bites instead. Not that that had gone particularly well either, considering the untouched eggs were cold now. 

Damara looked over from the next chair over, gently setting her tea on the table. "Still worried about Malroth?" she asked softly. 

Crea simply nodded, not looking up.

"Don't worry." She smiled. "He is capable of taking care of himself. This island is hardly dangerous, from what I've seen."

"I know… But it's not the island I'm worried about."

"Ah. You fear for his mind."

Crea sighed. "Something like that."

Pausing to take another sip of her tea, Damara turned to look out the window overlooking the waterfall. "He needs time to process," she said softly. "He  _ wants  _ to overcome his doubts. Is progress. But just as the struggle did not begin and end in one day, neither can his confidence return so quickly. But that doesn't mean he  _ never _ will."

Nodding, Crea looked up with a bashful smile. "I hope so. I miss him."

Damara put her hand on her knee with an equal smile before returning to her tea with one hand. It was silent between them for a few minutes, Crea even venturing to take a few tentative bites of her breakfast even though it was cold. A sound in the wooden entry caught their attention, listening closely as footsteps seemed to stop right in front of the door. All was quiet for a long time– as though the other entity debating whether to knock or not. But finally, the door opened.

Damara turned in her chair, instantly smiling. "Malroth," she greeted warmly. "You're back sooner than I expected."

He nodded as he set his hammer next to the door, hardly meeting her eyes. "Me too."

She watched him for a few moments, observing as he lingered near the doorway. "Is something the matter?"

Malroth was quiet. Crea couldn't do anything but stare at her plate, listening carefully.

"Damara," he said hesitantly, his voice deep and quiet. "Would you mind if… if me and Crea talked for a little bit?" He swallowed harshly. "Alone?"

She stood with a warm smile, hiding her hands in her long sleeves. "I would not mind," she said, striding to him and the door. Damara made soft eye contact as she neared, silently putting her hands on his shoulder and squeezing with reassurance. "I won't be far. Perhaps I will visit that pyramid of yours. I'll be back in… a few hours perhaps?"

Malroth nodded, reaching up to squeeze her hand over his shoulder. Her eyes glimmered faintly before she turned, quietly exiting the house. 

And then it was silent.

Crea was frozen and staring at the table, wondering what might have prompted him to come back so soon. Malroth tripped in his mind on the hundred things he wanted to say, his tongue refusing to cooperate each time he looked up to speak. Taking a deep breath after what felt like an eternity, Crea turned her head. Once their eyes met, neither of them could keep from speaking.

"Crea—"

"Malroth—"

They both hesitated for a moment from speaking at the same time, but pushed on.

"I'm sorry—"

They paused again after having said the same thing, hesitating stronger, watching each other with wide eyes. It took a few seconds longer this time, but they inhaled sharply to speak.

"You first—"

Malroth groaned and released all his breath after they spoke simultaneously again, looking away at the floor. He clamped his mouth shut and went completely still, causing Crea to lift the corner of her mouth in a shaky, lopsided smile. 

"Sorry," she offered softly. "I'm… nervous."

He didn't respond, still staring firmly at the floor. It made Crea shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"Malroth?"

"You don't remember." 

His voice was quiet and deep, with a tone she didn't recognize coming from him before. Her shoulders drooped. 

"I mean, I'm starting to remember a few things. Just fragments and stuff, but…" Crea chewed her lip. "I want to make it better. Whatever happened… I want to know so I can fix it."

Malroth closed his eyes. She thought he looked heavy from all the things he was carrying. "What if this can't be fixed?" he mumbled.

"Then I became a Master Builder for nothing," Crea said, equally quiet. She watched him for several silent minutes, trying to puzzle out his expression and feelings just by looking. After a minute, Malroth sighed. 

"Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

"Are you?" she asked, still studying his expression. After another silent minute of stillness, Crea took a careful breath. "I promise that I'll fix this," she said slowly. "I have to fix this. Just let me try. Please."

Malroth didn't move for another few seconds, but then he took a deep breath in order to groan, bringing a hand up to rub his face and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Start from Moonahan, then," he said softly. "Since you said you remember up to then."

Swallowing thickly, Crea took a shaky breath. "Things were getting spotty before that," she admitted. "Just a little. I didn't always notice it. Coming back from the mountain comes to mind, though, when I… when Ketriel made me feel so strongly that I snapped at you. I tried to shrug it all off for a while because I was convinced he needed my help and I thought he was trustworthy because he helped me after your trip, but…" She sighed. "Obviously that wasn't true. I was stupid to believe him over you. And you  _ told _ me that's what he was doing. And I didn't listen." 

Crea paused, waiting for Malroth to say anything but he didn't move. She pressed on despite the tightness in her throat.

"I really am sorry for that… I don't know if you'll believe me, but I am. I was stupid for thinking I knew better, for thinking it all was different when it wasn't. And I'm sorry. I just want you to know."

Malroth nodded imperceptibly beneath his hand. "But Moonahan?"

Crea bit her lip, swallowing the rejection of her apology. "We came back with Bishop. He… took me to build something, right? A… A room. I really lost sense of myself when I was working on that… After that I remember… screaming."

Malroth paled slightly, moving his hand from his nose to form a fist in front of his mouth. After she was silent for a minute, he spoke. "Do you remember why?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly. I remember being scared. And screaming for you."

"They came for you," he mumbled. "Because y—  _ Ketriel _ threatened the King. In front of everyone. Threatened to take back every block you ever made for them because  _ builders rank higher than kings, _ in your opinion." Malroth sighed, dropping his hand from his face to hold his arm, though he still looked down.

Crea winced. "That makes sense why they didn't like that…"

"Then the reflection was next?" he asked pointedly.

Swallowing harshly, she nodded.

"And then the mountain?"

She nodded again.

Malroth frowned, crossing both arms tight across his stomach. "So you don't remember when you threw my pendant at me?"

It was her turn to go pale. "I…"

Malroth scowled under his breath. "You threw it in my face after Bishop ordered me to show you the mirror. I was still freaking out about your reflection fading away and y—  _ Ketriel _ did that and it made me pass out, I think. Pretty sure Bishop had to drag me out." He shook his head. "There were a few times after that I was certain we were done forever."

"Malroth," Crea whispered, shakily standing from her chair and approaching slowly. His head stayed down, but she could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye. "I… I'm so sorry. I would never dare throw you away like that…" She stopped several feet away from him, unable to fully cross the lengthy divide she could feel between them. "I know it feels hollow right now, and I'm so sorry. I'll tell you as many times as I have to. I promise."

He scoffed. "And that wasn't even the worst part."

Crea felt her heart stop painfully, breath becoming tight in her throat as her mouth tried to form words. "What do you mean?" she eventually whispered. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she had promised to fix it. She had to at least ask. "What was the worst part?"

Malroth's eyebrows twitched downward, momentarily coming together in an agitated expression before returning to where they were. He adjusted his arms, hugging himself a little tighter. "You forgot me," he choked. 

Her heart sank a little further. "When?"

"When you—" He swallowed harshly. "When you ascended."

It was the only thing that she had no recollection of whatsoever. When she thought about the other things hard enough she would at least regain a few seconds of lost time, brief images and feelings that peeked through the fog of forgetting. But try as she might, nothing came through for that. Crea bit her lip again.

"That definitely wasn't you," he said softly, continuing without noticing her discomfort. "But… you forgot. And then I almost lost you forever."

She watched him still, hearing the way his breathing slowed as he tried to calm down. "When I was a goddess?" she whispered.

Malroth clenched his hands underneath his arms. "You didn't believe me at first," he growled softly. "That you had been taken against your will. Turned into the Goddess when you didn't want to. It wasn't until Rubiss showed up that you listened to me at all, and then she asked you if you wanted to stay or go home with me." Malroth paused, gritting his teeth. "But you didn't remember me, or your life," he said, his voice dangerously low and quiet. "And you chose to stay."

Crea felt her frozen heart plummet into her stomach, clapping her hand over her open mouth with wide eyes. 

"Eventually you gave me a chance to show you a memory to convince you otherwise…" Malroth paused again, swallowing heavily and taking deep breaths to calm himself. "I showed you the memory of when I was dying and gave you the pendant. That's when you started to take me seriously. You saw that I was wearing it. And then you chose to come back."

"It must have reminded me of your love," she whispered, moving her hand to her own chest as if trying to hold it for herself. "Again." She glanced at it, hanging just above his arms, against his chest.

Malroth didn't move or respond. There was nothing to say.

Crea swallowed. "I woke up and you were holding me. Right? That's what happened next?" She saw him nod before she added, "And then you killed Ketriel."

He sneered. "Felt good to destroy something outside of myself again, for once."

"Outside of…?" Crea frowned, taking a tentative step forward as she watched his body and face for any indication of his thoughts that simmered just below the surface. "Malroth, what are you talking about?"

He shook his head, tensing a bit as he watched her get closer out of the corner of his eye. "It's not important."

"It  _ is so!" _ Crea insisted, her panicked eyes darting all over him for some sort of answer. "Tell me! What did Ketriel do?"

Malroth huffed under his breath, clenching his jaw. 

Crea paused. "He made you think I hurt you," she said softly. "Right? Isn't that what you said yesterday, outside? That you thought it was me—"

"No," he whispered, cutting her off. "I made a promise didn't I? That I would protect you. It wasn't until the end that I realized that it meant protecting you from me, too. Or that protecting or saving you might destroy me in the process." He sighed, his shoulders finally slumping and the strength of his arms succumbing to the weight of everything as they fell back to his side. "Like now."

Crea startled abruptly, transfixed on his face. "Malroth?"

Her heart sank as he shrunk at her voice, somewhat looking over at her but not meeting her eyes. He had a question in his expression, but he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Malroth," she murmured again. He flinched as she raised her hand to touch his arm, shying away from her fingers. "What do you mean? Why would you say that?" she asked, bringing her hand back to her chest. 

Malroth stayed motionless, staring intently at the carpet. "You don't remember," he said, both like he was reminding himself and asking her.

"I'm starting to," Crea admitted, ashamed. "Fragments, remember? I want to fix it. Fix this. Fix us."

He didn't move, seemingly waiting for something. Maybe waiting for her to tell him something terrible again, she realized.

It broke her heart.

"Why did you stay?" Crea whispered. "Why did you follow? Why? You knew how to fight back. You knew what was happening. But why?"

Even though Malroth was motionless, she saw him tense once more. "You needed me," he mumbled. 

"But to the point of  _ destroying _ yourself?" she exclaimed.

He shrugged. "You needed me."

Crea was silent for a long time, watching the side of his face. When it was clear he wouldn't say anything else, she sighed and deliberately reached forward to take his hand. Malroth visibly hesitated as she neared, but relented once she touched his glove.

"C'mon," she said quietly, tugging his hand towards the door. "I think there's something we need to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ last cliffhanger I promise. _


	59. The Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go to the top of a mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, open note, this references some dialogue and things in my one-shot "On My Way To Heaven", so if you haven't read that yet, you may want to for things to make mildly more sense. Only the things pre-line break are relevant, so if you *don't* want to read the smut but you *do* want to read the relevant dialogue, you only have to read up to the line. :3

The top of the mountain was chilly as Crea scrambled up over the top of the cliff, panting and brushing off her dress as she looked down for Malroth behind her. He was still climbing a little ways below her, moving slowly and hesitantly. She bit back a sigh, waiting for him to get a little closer before extending her hand to help him up the last few feet. Eyeing her fingers carefully for a few seconds, Malroth again relented and took it, crawling up the last part of the cliff to her side. Still, he took his hand back quickly once he was steady, rubbing his palm against his jacket and looking away. Crea didn't suppress her quiet sigh this time but said nothing, looking over the rocky outcrop and approaching a boulder. She heard him following behind.

A few minutes later, walking over and around the uneven terrain, Crea chose a rock to sit on, the position affording itself right between the Cerulean Steppe and the Green Gardens. In the distance they could see the awkward top of the pyramid– one of the few projects Crea hadn't bothered to fix yet. The miners were too damn proud of their contribution. Silently Malroth looked around for a few seconds before sitting on an adjacent rock, glancing around for whatever she had dragged him up here to see.

But after ten minutes had passed and the sun had begun its descent into the sea, Malroth could keep his silence no longer. "Why are we up here?"

Crea smiled sadly, her gaze fixed on the horizon past the Hermit's temple. "Do you remember when we were up here right after Malhalla?" she asked quietly.

Malroth nodded, though he wasn't sure if she could see it out of the corner of her eye. "And I had to smack that chimera away to keep you from falling off the cliff?"

She nodded with a quiet snort, but it faded back into her wistful smile. "And when I… when I first told you that I loved you?"

He felt his heart clench uncomfortably at that. "Yeah," he whispered. "I remember."

The silence passed between them again, but it was somehow less tense than it had been these last few days. As appreciative as Malroth was of that, his wariness remained.

"I still thought of you, you know," Crea said quietly. "After Ketriel took me. Before he changed me. I had moments of consciousness where he would talk to me, and try to convince me you wouldn't come in time. I remember now that he showed me that moment that you said earlier, when I threw the locket at you and told you to go home…" She paused, breath shuddering in her throat, trying a few times to get her words to come out. "I had no idea. He made me say so many horrible things to you, didn't he? Trying to make you give up… and me, too. To break us apart…"

Malroth swallowed harshly, staring out at the Hermit's temple. There was nothing to say, for now. Just awkward discomfort filling the air around them.

Crea cleared her throat some minutes later. "Can I ask you something?" she asked quietly, still not turning to look at him.

He nodded, content not to look at her either for now. "Sure."

"Now that you know what love is…" She swallowed. "When would you say you fell in love with me?"

It was an overloaded question, to be sure. In a split-second an avalanche of memories buried his mind, leaving it blank. He hesitated. "When did you know?"

Crea hummed. "Personally, it was in Skelkatraz. When I would go sneaking around at night, I kept catching myself turning around to look for you. And then when you weren't there, I got really sad… Especially when I thought about you alone in your cell with no idea what was happening, or what I was doing, or anything. I worried a lot." She smiled sadly, looking down at her lap. "That was when I knew I always wanted to be with you."

Malroth paused, thinking back on that time as the silence settled between them again. He remembered staying up at night, pretending to be asleep, straining his ears to see if he could hear anything below the stone. Or the quiet rustle of Crea's bed, indicating her return. He remembered the brash anger he felt later when the guards said they would be separating them come morning, and their resolve to escape that night. He even remembered the irrational fear he felt as he punched holes in the rock beneath his bed, wondering if she would leave him behind or not. But he somehow always knew she wouldn't. It was because of that time that he knew she wouldn't leave him alone in Malhalla either, even after the destructive things that tried to kill their friendship in Moonbrooke.

He frowned. But what he felt then originated long before he was thrown in his cell on Skelkatraz.  _ But when? _ Malroth racked his brain, following his memories in reverse. He remembered wanting to protect her in the fight against Madusa, feeling pride whenever he saw her riding on Goldirox's shoulders. He remembered the relief and smiles shared between them whenever they found more ore in the tunnels, or any of the various secrets below the island. Even as far back as Furrowfield he knew he felt something, teaching her various moves for combat so he would feel more reassured at her safety whenever they had to fight the Badboon's minions… even though he still worried anyway.

But even those were not the starting points, even though they were among his earliest memories from within a month of his birth.  _ No, it must've been... _

Malroth hesitated. "I don't think I can remember any moment that I wasn't in love with you," he whispered. He saw Crea give a small, almost insignificant startle out of the corner of his eye. "You were the first person I ever saw. Alive, that is. And within a few minutes we were punching slimes on the beach and I just felt… happy." He shook his head. "And then I don't think it ever went away. That's why I couldn't recognize it in Khrumbul-dun. I'd always felt it."

Crea pondered that for a moment, watching the sky. "Even in Moonbrooke?"

"Yeah." He nodded in agreement. "Hargon used it against me… but it didn't break. For as angry as he ever made me feel, I never wanted to hurt you."

It was silent again for a while. The sunset magnified the sky, turning it a soft pink that transformed into oranges and purples. A handful of stars appeared above them, and eventually Malroth heard Crea sniffle at his side. 

"I'm… I'm really sorry, Malroth," she whispered. "I know I keep saying it, but I really feel terrible for what happened. I wish I could've been s-stronger… I didn't want to hurt you, but it ended up almost killing both of us anyway. I… I-I'm so ashamed of that. That I gave in to his lies because of that fear…"

It took a couple tries for the words to come out of his throat for how tight and full of emotion it was. "Crea," he whispered, voice cracking. 

"I can't say anything else for that except I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry. Everything that happened was cruel, and I… I'll…" She swallowed heavily, clearly fighting with her own words. "I'll understand if you hate me…"

"I could never hate you," Malroth said quickly, finally looking over at her. It was odd the way those words felt, now that he remembered her saying the same thing when they were barely starting their relationship on this very mountaintop. And now it was his turn to say it in a weird mix of events that had led to a teetering edge rather than the solid beginning it had been back then. It was strange.

Crea only stared down at her hands on her lap, tugging at her fingertips and clicking her nails together. "You have every right to," she mumbled.

"Maybe," he said, warily watching her. "But I wouldn't have climbed a mountain with you if I hated you."

She nodded slowly, processing as she stared at her hands. "I suppose."

"And I certainly wouldn't have told you I've been in love with you my whole life if I hated you, either."

Crea nodded again at that.

"But…" Malroth sighed, looking back over the valleys to see the twinkling lights from the farm and the castle. "I have to admit… I don't know what to do now."

Silence settled again, drawing time and distance between them as they watched the flickering lights. Malroth felt nervous until he felt a timid touch of her fingers on his glove. Instinctively he opened his hand without looking, letting her palm slide in against his own.

"Then…" Crea said quietly, hesitating. "Do you… want to figure it out with me? What we should do now?" She nervously giggled under her breath. "I… I still don't want to be without you. But we can start over. If you want."

Malroth looked over at her, seeing her glassy eyes and bittersweet smile as though she were waiting for his rejection. He shook his head, setting his free hand against her cheek and smoothing away the tears from her skin with his thumb. "Maybe not  _ completely _ start over," he whispered, setting his forehead against hers. Even in the low moonlight, he could see a familiar sparkle in her eyes. One that he knew he still wanted to chase for the rest of his life. 

Without another word between them, he closed his eyes and leaned forward for a timid kiss, their lips barely touching as he determined how much she would accept. She responded with another of her own, pressing a little stronger but still short, testing his boundaries in return. Malroth could feel her skittish breath on his lips, and he kissed her again, lingering a little longer than before. An unnamed emotion bubbled up from his chest, causing him to lean back and look at her with tears in his eyes. Crea already had more tears spilling down her other cheek, her smile looking like she was about to burst with relief. 

"Malroth." She sobbed, setting her hand over his on her cheek.  _ "Malroth. _ I love you."

He nodded, tears finally leaking from his eyes as he smiled back. "Crea," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I love you. I missed you…"

She sniffled, leaning more against his palm. "I missed you too. I'm so sorry. I messed up. I'll spend my whole life making it up to you. I promise."

Malroth shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "Just promise to stay with me. To stay by my side. That's all I need from you. That's all I want."

Crea nodded shyly, trying to contain her eagerness. "Of course," she agreed quietly. "I'll make that promise a million times. I promise I'll always stay. My home is with you. And I don't ever want to leave again."

More tears spilled down his cheeks, even though he was still smiling. He could only nod a little, feeling his throat choke up like before. "Crea," he finally managed to whisper. "I'll always come back to you. Always."

"You always do," she replied, smiling at him with gratitude. 

Malroth felt something tickle his chest, and he coughed a little, trying to clear his throat of all the emotion. "Do you want your pendant back?"

She hesitated slightly, glancing down at it before smiling sadly. "How about when you feel like I deserve it, you can give it back," she suggested. "Does… that sound okay? I just want to make sure we give ourselves enough time to recover and all…"

He nodded, smoothing his thumb over her cheeks again. "When we're stable," he mumbled. "Both of us."

An embarrassed blush spread across her cheeks the longer he watched her. "I don't know everything I need to do to make this better…" She swallowed heavily, trying to smile. "But that doesn't mean I won't try."

"We'll do it together," Malroth insisted softly, setting their foreheads together. "Like how it was always meant to be. You and me… and that big dopey grin."

Crea smiled widely, giggling. "Yeah. Together."


	60. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they check the mail. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adhd mood is prepping this to post and then tabbing away to double check a word and then realizing 8 hours later you didn't actually hit post

_One Month Later_

The sunlight was bright in Malroth's eyes and on his face, warmth caressing his skin and making him smile softly as he walked. He hummed as he let his eyes close, feeling Crea tug on his hand a moment later. Opening his eyes, he turned to look at her and saw her smiling.

"Sun too bright for you?" she teased. "You could've brought some sunglasses. Or an umbrella."

"I could've," he agreed, turning his head again to watch where he was walking. "Or use any of the dozen hats in our house. But this is fine too. The sun feels nice."

They were quiet as they walked leisurely through the sand, making their weekly trip to the mailbox. Hand in hand, they walked into the cooler desert tunnel, the heat dissipating except for between their hands and the golden locket that rested against Malroth's chest. They only let go of each other once they neared the empty dock, Crea carefully taking the letters out of the relatively empty box. He noticed there were only a few letters this week, and he watched as she opened them carefully.

"Saffron, Serge… Looks like there's one for you from Bishop." Crea handed the letter out without looking, letting him take it from her hand. "No Damara yet, though I suppose she only did just go home last week." She took a couple steps next to the mailbox, sitting down on one of the two chairs right next to it.

Malroth joined her silently, sitting in the other chair. He still watched her for a few seconds as she read before half-heartedly looking down at his own, opening it and glancing over a few lines. Bishop had been glad to hear of their return and had been adequately horrified at their harrowing tale, offering support and comfort as best as he could. It had been difficult to tell him, but Malroth had trusted him enough that he wanted him to have closure too.

"Oh…"

Malroth looked up at Crea's voice, searching her face. "What is it?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Oh, sorry. Serge tells me they want to have a festival to honor Goldirox and they're inviting us. He said to tell Babs and the others that they're welcome to come too, but… I dunno. I wasn't sure if you'd be up to it yet."

He shrugged. "Sounds fine to me. You know how much I like that place."

"True." Crea nodded, glancing back down at the letters on her lap. "There was… also a note from Brownbeard."

"Yeah?" Malroth leaned back in his chair. "What's our favorite scallywinkle want?"

She hesitated. "He wondered if we could build a lighthouse. He says it's hard to find the pier when he comes in at night."

"Oh." Malroth chewed his lip, watching her for a second before turning away to look at the nearby bluffs. "Well, per your own rule, neither of us can build until we both feel ready…"

"I know," she said softly. "I just thought I'd ask if you had any ideas or suggestions about it. In the meantime. You know?"

He swallowed heavily. "Not really. You?"

Crea smiled shyly. "I think it'd be best if we did it right here," she started slowly. "Maybe up a little bit, right on the edge of this outcrop here. The leftover castle blocks could look really refined for a lighthouse, or maybe the vault blocks to match the pyramid since it's closer. Lighter colors are probably better if he wants to see it in the dark. Maybe we could make a little bedroom at the bottom for Brownbeard when he stays overnight… I know he doesn't like to go too far from his ship, and he could do better than a tent."

"Better put a window on this side then, so he can see it if he gets worried about it in the night." Malroth stopped abruptly, looking embarrassed. "I-I mean…"

Placing her hand on his knee, Crea's smile softened. "No no, I think you're right," she said. "That's a really good idea."

Malroth met her eyes with a relieved smile of his own. She eventually blushed, looking back at the rocks, letters forgotten on her lap. He kept watching her face for another few moments, hesitating at the way his heart had suddenly started to pound. He grabbed the locket at his chest. "Hey Crea?"

She made a questioning sound, turning back to look at him.

He blushed. "I, um… I've been thinking."

"Yeah?" Crea was silent a few seconds before squeezing his knee. "What about?"

"About us."

Her breath caught in her throat for a brief second before she swallowed carefully, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. "What about us?" she asked slowly.

"I think…" Malroth swallowed. "I think it's time that I gave this back to you." Both of his hands came up to his neck, grabbing the chain and cautiously lifting it over his head. He pooled the chain and the pendant together in his shaking hand, warily extending it out to her.

Crea brightened. "You mean it?"

He nodded. "It's been a month."

"I know, but…" She placed her hand underneath his, allowing him to drop it into her waiting palm. "I didn't want you to feel like you _had_ to."

"I don't," he affirmed, setting his hands in his lap as he watched her slip it on over her hair. "I just feel like I can trust you again, so…" Malroth shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

Crea smiled, admiring the locket between her fingers for a moment before looking up at him. "Thank you," she said softly. "I promise I'll take care of it as much as you."

He allowed himself to smile. "I know. You've only been promising me stuff like that for a month." Malroth chuckled as she blushed, taking her hand. "And someday when we both feel good enough to build again, we'll make the best lighthouse ever."

Crea nodded brightly. "Together," she said softly.

Malroth nodded back, smiling optimistically. "Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long author note incoming!
> 
> we made it!!! yay!! after a year of working on it I'm super happy to make it to the end with you all :3 HUGE thanks to all of you who read/left kudos/commented, you're all amazing for sticking it out to help me get to the end! I got stuck a couple times but rereading comments and everything helped me push on and eventually finish. so thank you, no matter when in the story you started reading :)
> 
> special thanks to redda and aradhia for being my sounding board and telling me when my ideas were bad. XD
> 
> I hope it's obvious now that this was essentially written to be a "switch the roles and do the game again" sort of scenario, and setting up some of those juxtapositions were super fun. there was definitely more I thought about doing to lean harder into the comparison, but at the end of the day I am still human and have limits on what I'm able to write (I'm looking at you, five thousand battles in Moonbrooke). (also "Malhalla".) but it was still fun and enjoyed writing it a lot and I hope that you enjoyed reading it too! :D
> 
> for those of you looking for a dq hangout spot, there's my frequent haunt at https://discord.gg/uphq7drzPY, a DQ builders 2 server that has some RP, hanging out, help with writing, whatever! it's pretty chill, so feel free to stop by :3
> 
> I've got a couple other smaller works I'm looking at, so I'll still be writing dqb2 for a little bit yet. looking forward to it! and maybe seeing some stuff from you folks too, we had some good chats about potential stories :3 cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> all crit welcome, so long as you're not a jerk about it <3


End file.
